LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

MRS.   MARY  WOLFSOHN 

IN    MEMORY  OF 

HENRY  WOLFSOHN 


. 


IN    THE 


(A  STORY  OF  THE  NORTH) 

AND   OTHER  POEMS 

BY 


San  Francisco; 

WALTER  N.  BRUNT  COMPANY 
1906 


Copyright,  1906 

By  MABEL  PORTER  PITTS. 
All  Right.  Received 


iwr  in  1m  ktumui  luuu  many 

ani  t*ars  ar?  l|iJ  bf n^atlj  11^  mnrk. 


158793 


IN  THE   SHADOW   OF  THE   CRAG 

A    STORY    OF    THE    NORTH 

AND    OTHER    POEMS 


CONTENTS. 


AWAKENING    (THE) 206 

"A  DIGS" 133 

AN    EPISODE 137 

AN  OLD  LETTER  CASE 207 

APOTHEGMS   FOR  THE  IDLE 239 

AT  SAN  JUAN  CAPISTRANO 94 

BARRIERS 248 

BESIDE  THE  BIER 149 

BURDEN   (THE) .  174 

BENEDICTION    (THE)      .        .        .        .        .        .        .       128 

BLINDNESS 204 

BRIDGE    (THE) .        .       123 

BE   KIND .        .  110 

CHILD  OF  NATURE  (A)  .        .       .        .       .        .       .       251 

COMPANIONS        .        .        ...        .  .        .  209 

CAROL    (A)     .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .       ..       187 

DON'T  WORRY     ...       .       .       .    ~  .       .  .191 

DAY  DREAM   (A)          . 273 

DREAMS       .        . .     .V       .        .        .        ...  .  160 

DREAMER  (THE)     .        .        .       ...        .        .  98 

DESECRATION        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .  .  227 

ELUSIVE  (THE) 265 

EARTH'S   LESSON 87 

EARTH-CALL    (THE) 90 

EARTH-LOY'E  .  272 


CONTENTS. 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  BURDEN    

132 

FINIS           

.  243 

FALLACIES       

258 

GRANDEST  THING  (THE)    .        .        . 

.  198 

GOLDEN  GATE   (THE)    

232 

GALLEY  SLAVE  (THE)        .        .        . 

.  247 

GREATER  VICTORY   (THE)      

92 

GROPING       

.  246 

"GIVE!   GIVE!"     

168 

His  ANSWER       

.231 

HERE,  AND   THERE         

260 

HOPE     

.  138 

IN  MEDITATION    

105 

IN   RETROSPECTION      

.   190 

IF  You  HAD  KNOWN    

173 

I  THANK  THEE  

.  211 

IN  LOTUS  LAND     .        .        .        . 

152 

INEVITABLE    (THE)     

.  224 

IN  MISSION  DOLORES   CHURCHYARD    . 

234 

IN  THE  SHADY  PLACES     

.  253 

IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG     . 

1 

JOHN  BRADFORD'S  PRAYER  

.  176 

LOVE'S    ENEMY       

167 

LOVE'S  VICTORY   .        

.  186 

LOVE'S  LAMENT   

.  120 

LIFE         .       .      ••'..'       

242 

LOVE'S  RECOMPENSE    

.  183 

LOVE'S  SPAN    .        .        

148 

LIFE'S    MIRAGE   .                

.  252 

LOVERS'  TRYST  (THE)   .        .        . 

112 

LOVE'S   ABERRATION 

.  245 

CONTENTS. 


LOVE'S    REIGN 216 

LOVE-PLAINT  (THE) 93 

LIFE  OF  YESTERDAY  (THE) 213 

LEST  WE  GROW  Too  CONTENT 256 

LOVE'S  FALLACIES 178 

MAN'S   LOVE 122 

MEDICI'S  NEW  YEAR  (THE) 119 

MISER'S    SONG    (THE) 241 

MY   PLEA 179 

MAN  AND  WOMAN  OF  IT  (THE) 236 

MAN'S  HERITAGE 124 

NEW  YEAR  BELL  (THE) 215 

ON  THE  LITTLE  SANDY 171 

ON  LAUREL  HILL 121 

OF  THE  NANCY  PRYNE 202 

ON  THE  TAMALPAIS  SLOPE 229 

PAST  (THE) 156 

PHANTOM    (THE)       .        .    '   .        .        .  "     .        .        .136 

PICTURE  (A) ,/    ..       .       180 

PRAYER  (THE)    .        .        .        .        .        .        .    -  '"„        .200 

PUNISHMENT  (THE)     .        .        .        .       .       \       .       199 

PESSIMIST    (THE)      .        ,     "-- .        .       ...        .193 

PASSING  OF  THE  TIVOLI  (THE)    .        .        .       .       .       129 

PENALTY    (THE)        .        .        ....        .        .118 

POLE- SEEKERS    (THE) 218 

PARADOX    (A) 165 

" POETIC  CHOIR"   (THE) 255 

POPPY    (THE) 145 

QUATRAINS 275 

RETROSPECTUS  .  161 


CONTENTS. 


ROSE  (THE) 143 

RECOMPENSE 164 

ROAD  OF  A  GREAT  DESIRE  (THE) 182 

ROSE  OF  MONTEREY   (THE) 150 

REGENERATION         ........       259 

SATIETY        .        .        .  , 106 

SATAN'S   TOAST 127 

STAR   (THE) 222 

SIREN    (THE) 140 

SPANISH   SERENADE  (A) 166 

SUICIDE    (THE) .       134 

SPECTATOR  (A) -  263 

To  MANUELA 212 

To  MY  PIPE 142 

TO-DAY'S  ROYALIST 194 

To  JESSICA 153 

To  TOMBSTONE  II 159 

THEN  AS  Now 88 

To  THE  OLD  YEAR 249 

To  ETHEL 225 

To   MY   BOOKS 184 

UNCERTAINTY 257 

VOICE  OF  SILENCE  (THE) 125 

VOYAGERS    (THE) 189 

VOICE  OF  NATURE   (THE) 157 

WANTON    (THE) 99 

WHICH  DOES  NOT  MATTER  TO  You    ....       154 

WITH  LOVE  AT  YOUR  SIDE 267 

WOMAN'S  CONSTANCY  (A) 101 

WHEN  LOVE  BETRAYS 96 

WOMAN'S    DESTINY  .        .       268 


CONTENTS. 


WHEN  CHRIST  Is  RISEN 221 

WHERE  ALL  Is  VANITY 261 

WILL  You  RECALL  ME? 237 

WHO   PAYS? 162 

WITH  You  TO  SHOW  THE  WAY 278 

WHAT  KING? 144 

WATER   SPRITE    (THE) 103 

WHEN  PASSES  THE  FLAME 170 

WITH  NATURE 217 

WOMAN 196 

YESTERDAY    (A) 109 

You  WHO  LOVE  ME      .        .        .  270 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


L 


In  a  village  in  the  Northland  where  the  end 
less  wreaths  of  snow 

Smooth  the  ice-blocks'  rugged  edges  choking 
fast  the  Yukon's  flow, 

Where  the  frost  in  form  fantastic  traces  vines 

and  flow'rs  and  leaves 
On  the  dwellings'  low-browed  windows  half 

concealed  beneath   the  eaves, 

Traces   roses  pale  as  ashes,  roses  cold    and 

dead    and  gray 
As  the  blossoms  of  a  passion  that  the  heart 

knew  yesterday, 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Lived  a  woman  blest  with  beauty  fair  as  blush 
of  summer's  dawn, 

Eyes  akin  to  English  bluebells  that  the  dew- 
drops  tremble  on. 

Hair  as  tawny  as  the  rush-grass  limp  be 
neath  the  sun's  embrace. 

And  each  changing,  new  emotion  adding  glory 
to  her  face. 

Here  she  lived,  her  hopes,  ambitions  all  but 

turned  to  sounding  brass 
By  the  mock'ry  of  chimeras   darkly  shading 

fortune's  glass 

In    the    days    of    earnest    seeking,    when    the 

thing  desired  but  seemed, 
And  with  stubborn  will  to  follow  where  the 

light  of  metal  gleamed. 

Hope   will   live   within   the  bosom   while  the 

light  of  life  endures, 
Men  will  follow  blind,  and  eager,  where  the 

ignis  fatuus  lures, 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

And  the  sufferings  of  such  marches,  and  the 

woes  of  such  stampedes. 
And  the  pictures  full  with  pathos  where  the 

soul  of  pity  feeds, 

And  heroic  acts  of  mercy,  not  forgot  though 

left  untold, 
Prove  man's  reason,  only,   bartered,  that  his 

heart  is  still  unsold. 

There  is  that  within  our  being,  give  it  name 

the  one  who  can, 
Shining  God-like  in  man's  pity  and  humanity 

to  man. 

And  the  primal  good,  forgotten  through  the 

drift  of  human  will. 
Stirs     the    soul,   however   crippled,   to   some 

memory  of  it  still. 

Rumor  comes  on  north  wind  blowing,  vague. 

and  wild,  as  rumor  can. 
Of  a  storied  El  Dorado  rich  beyond  the  ken 

of  man. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Like  a  fever  comes  the  rumor,  sweeping  bare 
the  little  town, 

Leaving  naught  but  empty  cabins,  cold,  be 
neath  the  winter's  frown;' 

Cabins  looming  dark  and  cheerless,  with  their 

windows  blank  and  dead 
As   the   sightless   eyes   of   mortals   when   the 

spark  of  life  is  fled ; 

Doors,  left  half  ajar,  are  rilling  with  the  drift 
of  falling  snow, 

Bleak  as  though  by  man  deserted  half  a  cen 
tury  ago. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


II. 


Ah,    the    white-storm,    velvet- footed,    ah,    the 

treacherous,  the  cold, 
Creeping,  creeping  to  the  bosom,  there  with 

taloned  clutch  to  hold, 

Tricking  with  its  soft  embraces,  kissing  with 

its  fateful  breath, 
Loosing  not  its   fascination  till  the  heart  lie 

hushed  in  death  ; 

Ah.   the   white-storm,   ah,   the   cruel,   settling 

close  on  brook  and  mound, 
Smoothing  out  the  hollow  places  on  the  high, 

uneven  ground, 

Masking  hill  and  lake  and  river  in  its  clinging 

cloak  of  white, 
And   in    sullen   anger   sweeping   through   the 

weirdness  of  the  night ! 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF   THE    CRAG. 

On  an  upward  pathway  wending,  toiling  pain 
fully,  and  slow, 

Moving  in  uncertain  fashion  through  the 
trackless  waste  of  snow, 

Are  a  helpless  man  and  woman,  righting  hard 

for  life  and  breath, 
All  dismayed,  for  in  the  ice-wreaths  they  have 

seen  the  Silent  Death ; 

They  have  seen  his  haggard  features,  they 
have  watched  his  measured  stride, 

And  they  know  that  he  is  with  them,  walking 
silent  at  their  side ; 

Tf  they  falter,  lo,  they  perish;  if  they  pause, 

he  claims  his  own, 
And   they  pray   for  help  to  heaven,   for   the 

world  is  turned  to  stone. 

Where  is  now  the  wish  for  riches,  where  the 

hope  in  earthly  things, 
Where  the  music  in  the  siren  song  the  golden 

guinea  sings? 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Lo.  ambition's  fleeting  vision  mocks  the  slowly 

glazing  eye 
And  the  world  is  sodden  ashes  when  a  man  is 

marked   to  die. 

O'er  the   leaden   sky   comes   flashing   slender 

spires  of  ghostly  light 
Showing  where  the  white-storm's  forces  seek 

a  bivouac  for  the  night. 

Showing  outposts  wheel  and  vanish  with 
their  conquering  banners  furled 

As  if  touched  with  sudden  pity  for  a  tortured, 
helpless  world. 

Through  the  void  come  sounds  of  weeping, 

incoherent  words,  and  wild, 
And  the  father  presses  roughly  to  his  heart 

his  weeping  child : 

"O,     my    daughter,     well-beloved!       O,     my 

daughter,  mine  bereft! 
"Angels  guard  thee,  for  in  chaos  them  hast  no 

protector  left. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF   THE    CRAG. 

"Rest  thy  head  upon  my  bosom,  let  me  feel 
thy  hand  in  mine — 

"Daughter,  seest  thou  the  splendor  of  a  dis 
tant  city  shine? 

"Heard'st  thou  not  that  sweet  voice  utter 
words  which  thrill  my  weary  breast, 

"  'Come  to  me,  thy  work  is  ended,  come  to 
me,  for  I  am  rest?' 

"Fare  thee  well,  my  dear  beloved,  o'er  rough 

seas  we  long  have  sailed, 
"I  have  tried  to  make  safe  harbor,   I  have 

tried,  and  I  have  failed. 

"Though  the  night  of  death  divide  us,  lost 
the  way  that  we  have  trod, 

"Still  I  know  that  'dawn  will  find  us  some 
where  'neath  the  smile  of  God/  " 

O,  the  Northland,  callous  hearted,  vast  and 

cold  and  bleak  and  bare, 
How  may  prayers  reach  out  to  heaven  from 

such  desert  of  despair? 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Comes  the  voice  that  slowly  failing  begs  in 

accents  faint  and  low, 
"Sing  the  song  we  love,  my  daughter,  sing  it 

once  before  I  go ; 

"Sing,  'twill  help  my  trembling  spirit  find  the 
Light  that  marks  the  goal — " 

Then  from  out  the  dark  comes  floating,  "Jesus, 
lover  of  my  soul," 

And  the  night-bird  stops  to  listen — "Let  me 

to  Thy  bosom  fly," 
Breath    of    north    wind,    strangely    tempered, 

sighs  o'er  him  about  to  die, 

And  the  song  to  frenzied  cry  turns  when  his 

struggling  soul  has  passed, 
"Father,  to  Thy  haven  guide  him,  O,  receive 

him  Thine,  at  last." 

And  the  night  is  spent  and  weary,  and  the 

dawn  is  near  at  hand, 
And  a  soul  has  left  the  lesson  it  could  never 

understand, 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

But   perhaps    the    tangled    problem    will   one 

day  be  clearer  shown 
When   the   man    shall    stand   unhampered    in 

the  glory  of  the  throne. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


III. 


Through  the  hoar  frost  crimson  pennons  of 

the  dawn  begin  to  show 
And    the    crystal    ice-spars    glisten     with     an 

iridescent  glow. 

In    far   distant   lands,   and   kinder,    when   the 

day  begins  to  dawn. 
Comes  a  chirrup  from  the  tree  tops  and  an 

answer  from  the  lawn. 

From  some  neighboring  branch's  shelter  goes 

a  flutter  and  a  cry 
And   the   matin   song  of   Nature   sweeps   the 

gold-empurpled  sky. 

All  is  motion,  all  is  gladness,  happy  in  re 
turning  light, 

Xot  the  dead,  oppressive  stillness  of  this 
gleaming  waste  of  white, 


11 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Not  this   silence,   hushed   and  lifeless   as   the 

shadowed  face  of  Fate, 
Brooding  ever  on  the  secret  locked  within  its 

ice-bound  gate; 

Here,   no  hills   that  call   to  meadows   where 

cool,  babbling  rivers  run, 
Here,   no   joyous   cry   of   greeting   from   the 

children  of  the  sun. 

Yet  the  horizon,  dull  tinted,  shows  faint  mo 
tion  in  the  east, 

Signs  of  life  that  make  the  wildness  seem  in 
loneliness  increased, 

Clear,  and  clearer,  shows  the  outline  'gainst 

the  stretch  of  yellow  sky 
And  the  startled  air  rolls  pulsing  underneath 

the  hunter's  cry. 

Tokohoma,  lithe  and  supple,  Tokohoma,  strong 

and  brave, 
Lord  of  all  these  sullen  acres,  lord  of  land,  of 

air,  of  wave. 


12 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


Lord,  by  right  of  full  possession,  where    no 

stranger  forms  intrude, 
He,  a  chieftain,  undisputed,  reigns  o'er  realms 

of  solitude. 

And  he  comes  on    fleet    foot    speeding    over 

white,    uncharted   tracts, 
Storming,    fearlessly,    the    ice-blocks    in    the 

frozen  cataracts, 

Spurning  drift  on  drift  that,  gleaming  like 
great  milestones  bleak  and  cold, 

Mark  the  path  of  this  new  Hermes  swift  of 
foot  as  he  of  old. 

Xow  he  pauses,  stoops,  and,  seeming,  ques 
tions  something  that  is  dumb, 

Then  darts  back  like  winged  arrow,  back  on 
way  so  lately  come, 

And   the   startled   white   grouse  question  the 

astonished   face  of  dawn, 
"Where  his  course?''  and,  "What  his  mission?" 

Ere  the  answer,  he  is  gone. 


13 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


Gone,  with  doubt  each  hope  defying,  gone, 
with  pain  of  anxious  breath, 

Gone,  on  wings  of  fear  fast  flying,  racing 
with  the  phantom  death ; 

Muscles  tense,  and  nostrils  swelling,  back, 
still  back,  each  white  drift  rolls, 

Tokohoma  pressing  closer  to  his  heart  the 
thing  he  holds. 

North,  still  north,  till  on  his  vision,  lo,  there 

falls  a  welcome  sight, 
Rounded  mound  of  snow-house  glist'ning  in 

its  new  found  dome  of  white, 

Then,  quick  passes  through  its  portal  to  the 

haven  of  his  quest. 
Worn   and    wan,   this   Hermes,   clasping   still 

his  burden  to  his  breast ; 

Burden    strangely    limp    and    lifeless,    burden 

fair  as  shines  the  sun, 
Burden   for   which   Tokohoma   neck   to   neck 

with  death  has  run. 


EH 

or 

IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

But  the  stretch  is  still  uncovered,  still  un 
certain  lies  the  goal — 

Down  upon  his  knees  he  drops,  then,  in  his 
agony  of  soul. 

With  his  mind  in  dread  commotion  and  his 

heart  in  frenzied  storm 
While  he  tears  the  fur-lined  wrappings  from 

the  unresisting  form ; 

First,   his   own    skin   coat   of   sable    he    had 

wrapped  about  her  there 
When  he  found  her  by  her  father,  lost,  within 

the  storm-god's  lair. 

Then  complexities  of  garments  that  he  does 

not  understand. 

Frail  and  feminine,  that  perish  underneath 
his  unskilled  hand, 

And  the  white  arm  lies  before  him  in  its  still 
ness  of  repose. 

And  the  tender  throat  as  pulseless  as  is  beauty 
in  the  snows. 


15 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

How  he  chafes  her  arms,  her  body,  with  no 

moment's  pause  for  rest, 
How  he  turns  his  timid  glances  from  the  glory 

of  her  breast, 

How  all  hope  goes  out  and  darkness  of  de 
spair  creeps  in  its  place 

As  he,  breathless,  seeks  some  evidence  of  life 
within  her  face, 

How  he  labors  long  and  tireless  till  the  thing 

he  prays  is  done, 
Let  the  melting  snow-drift  tell  you  as  it  fades 

beneath  the  sun. 

Swift  a  tide  of  feeling  sweeps  him  when  slight 

sign  of  life  returns, 
Giving   place    to   new    emotions   where    deep 

earnestness  still  burns, 

And  his  trembling  hand   slow   falters   where 

so  firm  has  been  his  touch 
Now  that  death  is  partly  vanquished  and  the 

foe  has  eased  its  clutch. 


16 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

With   the   tenderness    of    woman    he    quick 

clothes  the  waking  form, 
Lays  it  gently  on  heaped  wolfskin,  fox,  and 

brown  seal,  soft  and  warm, 

Then  withdraws  a  little  distance  resting  pen 
sive  in  his  place, 

Looking  with  a  deep  emotion  on  the  beauty 
of  her  face; 

Through  his  brain  whirl   dreams,   traditions, 

glints  of  fragmentary  lore. 
Foolish  fancies  of  his  people  scarcely  credited 

before, 

But  of  Fate  none  dares  to  question,  and  the 

thing  will  be  she  wills, 
And  a  feeling  strange  and  sacred  Tokohoma's 

being  thrills. 

"Have  you  come?"  he  softly  murmurs,  "Has 
the  promise,  then,  been  kept? 

''O,  my  queen,  you  near  did  perish,  death  so 
close  to  you  had  crept, 


17 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


"I  near  lost  you  ere   I   found  you,   such  the 

limit  of  man's  pow'r, 
"Destiny  he  knows  awaits  him  yet  he  cannot 

name  the  hour. 

"Have  you  come?  Some  import  tells  me  the 
prophetic  word  was  true, 

"And  my  soul  to  doubting  question  ever  an 
swers,  "It  is  you.' 

"It  is  you,   of  whose  vague   coming  council 

graybeards  ofttimes  spoke, 
"It  is  you,  whose  sacred  mission  was  to  lift 

my  people's  yoke, 

"It   is   you,   your   way   swung   hither,   as   on 

orbit  swings  the  star, 
"Queen  for  me,  and  for  my  people,  scattered, 

lost  and  strayed  afar ; 

"All  are  gone,  the  winds  of  heaven  from  the 
four  points  breathe  their  name, 

"None  is  warrior,  now,  nor  hunter,  unmo 
lested  feed  the  game ; 


18 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

"They  have  sunk  to  trade,  to  barter,  nor  resent 

the  white  man's  jibe, 
"And  their  chief,  ashamed,  self-exiled,  stands 

a  chief  without  a  tribe. 

"You  are  come,  your  course  appointed  you 

are  helpless  in  your  fate, 
"You   should  be   a  queen  of  nations,  not  a 

tribeless   chieftain's   mate, 

"You  should  look  on  deeds  of  valor  and  praise 
victories  well  won, 

"And  review  your  fearless  warriors  number 
less  beneath  the  sun — 

"Yet  you   may   not.      It   is   written   you   are 

mine  to  have,  to  hold, 
"You  will  love  me — so  the  graybeards  spake 

in  prophecy  of  old." 

Life  returns,  and  comes  prophetic,  as  it 
should,  through  troubled  moan, 

And  the  face  of  Tokohoma  like  another  face 
has  grown ; 


19 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

All  emotions  quickly  conquered  now  in  depth 

of  shadow  rest, 
In  his  look  no  trace  of  tumult  that  so  lately 

swept  his  breast 

For  the  bird  must  not  be  'frighted  though 
to  flame  his  heart  be  fanned, 

Not  until  she  comes  to  love  him  can  he  make 
her  understand. 

Doubt  that  she  will  love  him  henceforth  will 

be  foreign  to  his  mind. 
He  has  questioned,  and  decided,  question  now 

is  left  behind 

And  his  heart,  untamed  and  simple,  wakens 

to  one  sole  desire 
And   in   crucible   of  beauty,   lo,   is  left  there 

molten  fire. 

Calm  he  stands,  the  strength  of  manhood 
marked  in  wild,  unstudied  grace 

And  his  dark  eyes  showing  blacker  'gainst 
the  fairness  of  his  face. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


IV. 


There  are  times  when  breath  is  bitter :  there 
are  times  when  life  is  dust ; 

There  are  times  the  tortured  soul  cries  out 
against  the  body's  rust: 

There  are  times  when  adverse  waters  sweep 
life's  ship  with  fateful  roar, 

\Yhen  oblivion  were  better  than  to  strand 
upon  the  shore. 

She  who  lies  there  scarce  accredits  that  the 

fires  of  life  still  burn, 
Thoughts,  in  slow  and  halting  fashion,  back 

o'er  snow-framed  pictures  turn, 

And  vague  mem'ry  dawning  clearer  to  a  better 

sense  of  grief 
Wakes    to    find    but   keener    anguish     in     its 

efforts  for  relief. 


21 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Tokohoma  waits  the  turning  of  the  quick 
ening  pulses'  flow, 

Sees  the  lips'  and  cheeks'  gray  pallor  to  faint 
shade  of  crimson  grow, 

Watches  dark- fringed  eyelids  quiver  as  they 

feel  the  life-tide  rise 
And,    at    last,    his    soul    meets,    melting,   that 

strange  glory  of  her  eyes. 

Kindness,  nature's  common  language,  speaks 
when  helpless  lips  are  dumb, 

Through  it  babe  and  painted  savage  to  sweet 
understanding  come, 

Through  it  all  the  blighting  stigma  of  a  life 

may  be  enfurled, 
Through  it  once  a  man  was  given  to  arouse  a 

sleeping  world. 

She  divines  this  simple  kindness  that  within 

his  glances  rest 
And   a   storm   of  bitter   weeping   sweeps   the 

tumult  of  her  breast. 


22 


IN     THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAt,. 

Naught  she  asks  of  how  she  came  here, 
naught  of  question  dimly  lights 

Mind  distraught  that,  heavy  burdened,  takes 
as  yet  but  halting  flights. 

Tis    enough    a    fellow    creature    sympathizes 

with  despair. 
Anguish  questions  not  of  glances  that  the  look 

of  pity  wear ; 

Out  to  him  her  arms  she  holds  then  in  impas 
sioned  way  and  wild 

And  he  soothes  her  bitter  moaning  as  a  father 
soothes  his  child. 

Long  she  sobs  till  founts  of  anguish  hold  no 

more  of  tears  to  weep. 
Till  exhaustion,  mast'ring  sorrow,  yields  it  up 

to  troubled  sleep. 

And   she  wakes   to   days  of   fever,   wakes   to 

nights  of  bitter  pain. 
Only  Tokohoma  conscious  of  how  long  she 

thus  has  lain. 


23 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Only  Tokohoma  knowing  how  was  watched 

each  fitful  breath, 
How   was    fought   a    second   battle   with   the 

dreaded  wraith  of  death. 

How  a  second  time  he,  victor,  hid  the  joy  of 

what  he  felt, 
And  the  great  white  silence,  only,  heard,  "I 

thank  Thee,"  as  he  knelt. 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


V. 


As  beneath  its  woe  of  winter  cold  and  sombre 

lies  the  earth, 

As  the  naked  shrubs,  like  mortals,  moan  their 
doubt  of  life's  rebirth, 

As  the  rivers  shroud  their  faces  in  their  mourn 
ing  cloaks  of  snow 

So  do  human  hearts,  dull-burdened,  'neath 
grief's  winter,  sunless  grow. 

Tokohoma  tries  to  lighten  in  these  convales 
cent  days 

That  faint  smile,  more  sad  than  weeping,  that 
upon  her  pale  lip  plays; 

Xot  unmoved  by  kind  endeavor,  though  from 

grief  no  nearer  wooed. 
She,  to  please  him,  smiles  a  little,   such  the 

sense  of  gratitude. 


25 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

After  tempest  comes  the  sunshine,  after  winter 

comes  the  spring, 
Not  forever  shall '  the  mourning  cry  through 

sorrow's  cavern  ring; 

Tokohoma  sees  the  roses  on  pale  cheeks  begin 

to  glow, 
Sees  faint  hope,  again  transcendent,  o'er  the 

darkness  radiance  throw. 

In  these  days  he  searches  mem'ry   for  stray 

threads  of  useful  art, 
In  these  days  the  thing  projected  holds  some 

impress  of  his  heart, 

In  these  days  the  deerskin  wrapping,  thong  of 

hide,  and  belt  of  fur 
Take  strange  tints  of  unguessed  beauty,  since 

he  fashions  them  for  her. 

By  her  couch  he  sits  whole  evenings,  resting 

pensive  hand  on  cheek, 
Joyous  if  she  give  commission,  happy  if  she 

will  but  speak; 


26 


IX     THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Unreservedly    she    tells   him    of   the    vagrant 

hopes  that  start. 
Of  desires  long  since  relinquished  that  were 

wont  to  fret  her  heart. 

Thus  he  has   small   need  to  question  of   the 

things  that  he  would  learn. 
Thus  her  heart  an  open  book  is,  and  its  leaves 

in  sequence  turn 

While  he  reads  the  broken  story  of  a  life  still 

young  in  years 

But    deep   bowed   with   age   when   looked    at 
through  its  mist  of  blurring  tears. 

These,  the  lines  that  touch  her  deepest,  are 

the  ones  most  often  read 
Though  the  plans  that  lie  transcribed  there  are 

reviewed  as  projects  dead : 

As  the  moth   with  hurt  wing  flutters   round 

the  candle's  dying  beams. 
So  does  man  forever  hover  near  the  wreckage 

of  his  dreams. 


37 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


In  the  trend  of  daily  converse  froth  thoughts 

float  like  ocean  foam, 
And  from  beat  of  inward  tumult  rises  oft  the 

word  of  "Home." 

Home,  that  place  of  peace,  of  comfort,  where 

the  weary  heart  can  rest, 
Home,  that  word  which  strikes  vibrating  on 

the  gnarld  strings  of  the  breast ! 

Tokohoma   vaguely   gathers    from   her,   now, 

repose  of  mind, 
That  this   cherished   dream,   like   others,   has 

been  sadly  left  behind, 

And  a  surging  thought  sweeps  o'er  him,  as 
o'er  pine-tops  sweeps  the  blast, 

Leaving  him  unsteady,  swaying,  when  the 
fevered  thrill  has  past, 

Leaving   him   in    deep   emotion   that   is   near 

akin  to  prayer 
And  his  brow   full-flushed   in  beauty  by  the 

thought  it  shelters  there. 


28 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

When  her  strength  is  well  recovered  then  he 
leaves  her  for  a  space, 

To  return  each  night  with  myst'ry  overspread 
ing  all  his  face. 

To  her  questions  of  his  absence  he  gives  pre 
text  ever  new 

And  close  guards  each  word  lest  inkling  of 
his  secret  filter  through. 

Dawning  suns  see  busy  fingers  shaping  crude 

things  into  form, 
Flurried    snow-flakes    pause    to    question    ere 

they  merge  within  the  storm, 

Help  of  hope  in  light  transcendent  seems  to 

shine  from  gift  above, 
All  of  toil  is  zephyr  lightness  when  the  task 

is  that  of  love; 

And   the   day   stands   golden    lettered   in   the 

shifting  sands  that  run 
When,     triumphant,     Tokohoma     views     his 

heart's  great  labor  done. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CKAG. 

O,  the  joy  that  sweeps  the  Northland,  close 

to  anguish  deep  allied, 
On  that  day  when  Tokohoma  finds  the  frail 

one  at  his  side 

Out  among  his  bleak  possessions,  ringed  afar 

by  gleaming  heights, 
Out  beneath  the  changing  weirdness  of  the 

restless  northern   lights ; 

Through  the  dusk  of  noonday  glitter  discs 
of  silver,  touched  with  gold, 

Where  the  sun-dogs  pierce  the  hoar  frost 
hanging  sinister  and  cold ; 

Naught  so  poignant  or  impressive  here,  where 

sovereign  forces  meet, 
As  the  sense  of  desolation  that  is  crushing 

and  complete. 

Soon,  when  nearer  things  are  noticed,  she  a 

tiny  cabin  sees, 
Outlined  yonder  near  the  snow-house  'gainst 

a  ground  of  distant  trees ; 


30 


IX     THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

There  her  instinct  quickly  answers  questions 
she  has  long  repressed 

And  a  strange  emotion  flutters,  like  a  weak 
ness,  in  her  breast. 

Tokohoma,  watching  mutely,  tries  her  pur 
pose  to  divine. 

Ere  she  turns  and  utters  simply,  "Let  us 
enter.  It  is  mine." 

Quietly   she   takes   possession,   quietly   essays 

to  speak. 
Burning   rose   and    pallid    lily   alternating   in 

her  cheek. 

And  as   scattered  sea-drift  whispers  of  that 

wealth  the  wave  conceals. 
So  her  kindly  smile  is  index  to  the  gratitude 

she  feels. 

In  no  time  of  their  abiding,  strange,  and  in 
timate,  and  fleet. 

Has  the  pulse  of  Tokohoma  in  such  wanton 
fashion  beat : 


31 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF   THE    CRAG. 

She,  unconscious  of  his  weakness,  seeks  new 

wonders  to  extol, 
While   he   trembles   lest  his   secret   burst  the 

bond  of  stern  control. 

When  the  dearth  of  simple  objects  leaves  no 

more  to  be  admired, 
Down   she   sinks  on   rug  of  wolfskin   like   a 

child  with  laughter  tired, 

Noting,  still,  her  strange  possessions,  prais 
ing,  still,  with  ling'ring  glance, 

Searching  close  lest  any  treasure  has  been 
overlooked  by  chance, 

And  when  all  but  well  decided  as  her  eyes 

sweep  walls  and  floor, 
Yonder  sees  some  shining  object  she  had  let 

escape  before. 

Quickly  come  to   where  it  glistens,   wide  of 

eye  and  hushed  of  breath, 
O'er     her     rounded     cheek     swift     sweeping 

spreads  a  pallor  gray  as  death. 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

From  its  place  she  lifts  a  necklace,  crude  of 

workmanship  and  plan, 
Xuggets,  linked  in  simple  fashion,  large  and 

small,  a  circlet  span, 

And  her  hesitating  fingers  o'er  each  rough 
ened  surface  play 

While  she  questions  Tokohoma  in  repressed 
and  rapid  way : 

How  he  came  by  their  possession?  What 
their  story?  Where  their  source? 

Looking  back  her  way  seems  swung  here 
by  some  strange  and  occult  force. 

She,  like  every  artless  dreamer,  hopeful   for 

the  thing  long  planned, 
Sees  a  fate  in  each  occurrence  that  she  fails 

to  understand; 

And  she  waits  for  confirmation  of  the  thing 
already  guessed, 

But  his  answer  breathes  evasion,  clearly  leav 
ing  much  suppressed ; 


33 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF   THE    CRAG. 


And  he  begs  that  she  will  tell  him  what  the 

power  is,  ere  he  speaks, 
That  so  swift  has  changed  the  color  of  the 

damask  of  her  cheeks ; 

What   the    force   is   that   for   ages    has    not 

loosed  its  mystic  hold 
On  the  heart  that  in  the  white  man,  lusts  to 

clasp  the  yellow  gold. 

And  she  answers,  speaking  softly  in  her 
earnestness  of  tone, 

Every  word  imbued  with  color  from  the  sor 
rows  she  has  known: 

"Gold  is  talisman  for  evil,  gold  is  happiness, 

is  rest, 
"Gold  is  balm  for  every  sorrow  that  assails 

the  human  breast, 

"Gold  is  guide  for  them  that  struggle  in  the 

sea  of  daily  strife, 
"Gold  is  counselor,  magician,  gold  is  beauty, 

gold  is  life; 

34 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

"Gold  is  synonym  for  honor,  it  is  glory,  it  is 
fame, 

"Gold's  a  crutch  for  social  cripples  with  ob 
scurity  of  name. 

"Gold  a  trickster  is.  its  palmings  e'en  the 

skeptical  convince, 
"For  its  lack  proclaims  the  peon,  its  abundance 

names  the  prince. 

"By  it  race,  and  caste,  and  teachings  all  are 

leveled  in  a  breath ; 
"It  makes  equal  slave  and  master  as  effectually 

as  death. 

"And  so  full  it  taints  and  tinges  all  that  fancy 

may  behold 
"That  its  power  scales  even  heaven  to  bespeak 

the  streets  of  gold ; 

"In  the  sky  the  moon  hangs  golden,  golden 

shines  the  sun  above, 
"Gold  is  head,  and  heart,  and  feeling,  gold  is 

friendship,  gold  is  love." 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Seeing  then  that  Tokohoma  deeply  on  each 

word  attends, 
She,  in  tone  half  grave,  half  jesting,  that  a 

lighter  humor   lends, 

Adds,  "These  Midas  gifts,  as  fleeting  as  the 
breath  that  scents  the  rose, 

Are  for  thee,  too,  could  men  name  thec  Prince 
of  Gold,  thou  Prince  of  Snows." 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


VI. 


Like  a  great  white  sphinx  the  Northland  lies 

implacable  and   dread ; 
Dull   and   gray   the   arch   of   heaven   frowns, 

low-bending,    overhead ; 

Sullen  snow-fields,  void  of  luster,  rest  be 
neath  a  pulseless  sky, 

Stretch  on  stretch  of  space  spreads  empty, 
undisturbed  by  call  or  cry; 

Silence    wraps    the    lake    and     river,     silence 

shrouds  the  copse  and  hill, 
Sound  is  'frighted  by  the  silence  and  remains 

forever  still; 


What  of  life  is  here  speeds  noiseless,  appre 
hensive,  and  afraid, 

Ever  fearful  of  some  horror  unaccountably 
delayed. 


37 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


Here   is   heard    no    soothing   rustle    from    the 

leaves  of  swaying  trees, 
Here   is    seen    no    dancing    ripples     spraying 

shores  of  inland  seas, 

Here   the   mocking   northlight    flashes    in     a 

jagged   arc   of   red. 
Here  the   earth  lies  wan  and  ghastly,   to  its 

soul   benumbed   and   dead ; 

Here    the    phantom    dusk    slow    merges    into 

weird,   fantastic   night, 
And  a  mighty  hush  low  crouches  on  eternal 

beds  of  white. 

In   the   west   rise   towering   mountains,   by   a 

river   interlaced, 
Whose  approach   is   dragon-guarded,   tier  on 

tier,  by  glistening  waste; 

Rugged   boulders,   javelin-pointed,    rise    dis- 

puters  of  the  way. 
Black  abysses  spread  their  pitfalls  to  entrap 

unwary  prey; 


38 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Precipices      roughly      threaten      where      had 

seemed  an  open  path. 
Yawning  chasms  breathe  the  story  of  some 

deep,  insatiate  wrath. 

Noxious   gases,   slowly   lifting,  merge   within 

the   ruling   frost, 
Deeply    sprung     from     such   weird   darkness 

that  their  origin  is  lost. 

On  one  towering  peak,  that  rises  more  for 
bidding  than  the  rest. 

Is  a  giant  crag  hung  midway,  sheer  and  dread, 
'twixt  base  and  crest ; 

Far  above  it  walls  of  granite  shimmer  to  a 

giddy  height, 
Far  beneath  a  cliff  drops  darkly  into  mystery 

and  night. 

Here  no  mark  of  wandering  hoof-beat  strays 

to  scar  the  crusted  snows. 
Here    formidable    defenses    guard    the    great 

crag's  bleak  repose. 


39 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF   THE    CRAG. 

Here   the  wild,   aggressive    aspect    softening 

drifts  cannot  efface, 
And  a  heart  inured  to  danger  well  may  pause 

in  such  a  place. 

To  the  rock  there  seems  appended  some  dis 
cernible  approach, 

Though  great  boulders  mar  its  outline  and 
though  frozen  streams  encroach ; 

Years,  long  years,  with  brow  dark  beetling, 
it  has  scowled  on  hill  and  plain, 

Years,  long  years,  its  glooming  shadow  on 
the  mountain's  breast  has  lain. 

When  the  Spring  unclasps  the  river  from  its 

long-locked    icy    sheath, 
Then  a  second  crag  floats  trembling  in  the 

waters   far  beneath, 

And  the  white-fmned  salmon  darting  where 

the  depths  of  crystal  gleam 
Shun  the  shade  that  wavers  darkly  as  it  falls 

athwart  the  stream. 


40 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF   THE    CRAG. 

Vague  tradition  wraps  in  shadow  deeper  still 

the  jagged  crest, 
And  far  out  upon  the  seacoast  where  the  red 

sun  gilds  the  West 

Lives  a  tale  of  how  a  warrior  bore  the  death 

he  rightly  won 
Who   designed   to   lead    a    paleface    to    the 

Great  Crag  of  the  Sun. 

One  dull  dawn,  before  the  ghost-light  fades 

beneath   advancing   day, 
Over    drifts    that    lie    unbroken    Tokohoma 

takes  his  way; 

North  he  speeds  o'er  rising  uplands  that  de 
flect  toward  the  west, 

Where  the  Great  Crag,  looming  darkly,  stirs 
strange  tumult  in  his  breast; 

Many  times  its  rugged  outline  he  has  traced 
against  the  sky, 

Many  times  its  sober  grandeur  has  com 
pelled  his  heart  and  eye, 


41 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Though   familiar  with   its  phases  as  it  rises 

bleak  and  sheer, 
Yet  he  ne'er  has  braved  its  shadow  but  with 

superstitious  fear. 

Soon  the  plain  is  left  behind  him  stretching 

far  toward  the  east, 
And  he  turns  to  face  new  hazards  that  each 

moment  are  increased, 

Cautiously  he  goes,  and  slowly,  in  the  hush 

of  bated  breath, 
For  who  braves  the  Crag's  dominions  braves 

them  hand  in  hand  with  death. 

Giant  rocks   must  be   surmounted,     shad'wy 

chasms  must  be  crossed, 
Shallow  footholds  forced  in  ice-blocks  where 

the  mountain  streams  have  tossed. 

Spines  of  jagged  rock  are  pathways  swung 

between  the  earth  and  sky, 
Where  his  heart  must  beat  courageous  if  he 

have  no  wish  to  die. 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Here   he   skirts   a   ledge,    long   riven   by   the 

force  of  some  past  shock. 
\Vhere  lie  fossil  ferns  embedded  in  the  strata 

of  the  rock : 

Here  is  shunned  a  pit  smooth-crusted  by  its 

overhanging  drifts 
Fairy  edged  in  feathery  hoar  frost  trembling 

lightly  in  the  rifts. 

Where  this  fissure  yawns  abysmal  to  a  depth 

of  fearful  gloom 
Is  the  spot  the  redskin  traitor  met  the  horror 

of  his  doom. 

Tokohoma  nears  its  darkness.     He  must  leap 

it.     It  is  done. 
And  he  sinks  fatigued  and  breathless  at  the 

Great  Crag  of  the  Sun. 

Here  he  rests  till  day  comes  bursting  o'er 

the  plain  in  angry  red. 
Till  the  lurid  light  beats  fiercely  on  the  rock 

swung  overhead, 

43 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF   THE    CRAG. 

Then  he  rises,  stands  a  moment,  like  a  sinner 

unconfessed, 
Who,    enamored    of    his    weakness,    cannot 

pluck  it  from  his  breast, 

And  with  glances  strangely  solemn  watches 

shadows  change  and  lift 
To   disclose  beneath  the   Great  Crag,   in   the 

ledge,  a  narrow  rift 

With  a  vaulted  arch  beyond  it  stretching  back 
ward  into  gloom, 

Wrapped  in  dread  and  heavy  silence  like  the 
hush  within  a  tomb. 

Here  he  enters,  recent  struggle  marked  in  lines 
upon  his  face 

Set  in  stolid  resolution  no  conviction  may  dis 
place, 

In  a  calm  of  deadened  feeling,  like  a  swimmer, 

cramped  and  numb, 
Who  sinks  passive  'neath  the  waters  he  has 

failed  to  overcome. 


44 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Scarce   his   eyes   become   accustomed   to   the 

cavern's  lesser  light 
Than   his   sluggish     fancy    quickens    to    one 

sweeping,  backward  flight; 

Sacred   pledges,   oaths,   traditions,   crowd  the 

cave's  forbidden  door, 
But  the  pictures  are  unwelcome,  he  resolves 

to  look  no  more. 

And  he  turns  where  broken   stratum,  virgin 

vein,  and  glist'ning  bed 
f  how  the  velvet  yellow  changing  to  a  fierce 

and  sullen  red 

'Neath    a    shaft   of   sunlight   piercing   like    a 

knife-blade  keen  and  thin 
Through  the  dark  to  probe  the  secret  of  the 

mystery  within. 

Gold  is  here,  pure,  unpolluted  by  the  hand  of 

want  or  greed. 
Though  the  heart  of  many  a  chieftain  has 

been  tempted  in  his  need, 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


But  a  breast  may  beat  with  honor  though  de 
nied  emblazed  device. 

And  a  man's  a  man,  though  redskin,  and  may 
stand  beyond  a  price. 

Through  injustice,  through  privation,  through 
the  white  man's  threat  and  bribe, 

Has  the  secret  been  close  guarded  by  the  trust 
ed  of  the  tribe. 

It  had  been  a  hope,  a  safeguard,  should  their 

landholds  be  assailed, 
It  was  held  a  final  resource  when  all  other 

means  had  failed. 

For  themselves,  such  garish  bauble  it  were  in 

them  to  despise 
But  each  knew  the  fascination  that  it  shed  for 

other  eyes, 

And  the  vague,  uncertain  future  was  a  theme 

for  lesser  fear 
With  such  ward  against  the  season  when  the 

paleface  should  appear. 


46 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

And  he  came.    The  moaning  pine  boughs  sway 

beneath  the  polar  star 
To  repeat  the  old,  old  story  of  the  lands  that 

lie  afar. 

Teepees  gone,  and  lodges  empty,  confiscate 
by  law  of  might 

And  the  redman,  naked,  vanished  into  nothing 
ness  and  night. 

Then  it  was  that  graybeard  councils  gazing 

o'er  their  broken  host 
Swore  to  circumvent  the  wrhite  man  in  the 

thing  he  wished  the  most, 

And  each  calmed  his  outraged  bosom  when 

despoiled  and  overrun 
By  an  oath  to  keep  the  secret  of  the  Great 

Crag  of  the  Sun. 

Hasten,  hasten,  Tokohoma  !  Work  while  thou 
hast  yet  the  day. 

Let  no  sacred  pledge  deter  thee,  let  no  retro 
spect  delay. 

47 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Fuller  pile   thy  mooseskin   pouches   till   their 

space  can  hold  no  more. 
Work,  proud  prince,   forget  that  labor  ne'er 

has  soiled  thy  hands  before. 

Work,  and  quell  that  cry  within  thee  that  goes 
harking  through  the  years 

Back  to  sufTrings  of  thy  people,  men's  priva 
tions,  women's  tears, 

And  forget  that  near  the  Yukon  where  the 

white  man  spreads  his  tent 
Glide,  at  intervals,  strange  figures  with  their 

gray  locks  lowly  bent 

That  abide  awhile  unquestioned,  like  to  souls 

that  stand  exempt, 
To  observe  the  strife   for  riches   with  grim, 

satisfied  contempt — 

That  come  somewhere  from  the  silence  to  be 

seen  awhile  of  men 
Then,  with  cloaks  close  wrapped  about  them, 

back  to  silence  sink  again. 


48 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Hasten,   hasten,   Tokohoma,    let    no    scruple 

stay  thy  hand, 
AYho  has  erred  he  will  forgive  thee,  who  has 

loved  will  understand. 

Hesitate  no  more  upon  it,  clear  thy  heart  of 

fretting  doubt, 
Act,  and  if  thou  may'st,  with  honor,  if  thou 

may'st  not,  then  without. 

Ofttimes  what  has  loomed  enormous  dwindles 

when  the  thing  be  done, 
Thus   thy   project,   with   the   gauntlet  of  thy 

superstitions  run. 

Thou,  a  Croesus,  heard'st  that  spoken  which 
through  all  thy  being  thrilled 

Yet  doth  stand,  like  others,  grieving  for  a  wish 
still  unfulfilled? 

Hast  thou  dreamed,  perhaps,  that  somewhere 
something  might  be  held  unsold? 

Hast  thou  fear  of  limitation  for  this  sullen, 
glist'ning  rold? 


49 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Ease  thy  mind.  O  Tokohoma,  work  while  thou 

hast  day  above, 
"Gold  is  head,  and  heart,  and  feeling,  it  is 

friendship,  it  is  love." 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


VII. 

Life  within  the  snow-house  settles  to  a  sem 
blance  of  repose : 

Every  day.  like  that  before  it.  void  of  interest 
comes  and  goes. 

Every  day  a  deeper  damask  shades  the  con 
valescent's  cheek 

And  a  lighter  tone  breaks  gently  where  but 
grief  was  wont  to  speak. 

Hope  will  live  while  life  can  struggle,  biding 
fortune's  adverse  moods 

And  from  sorrow  comes  a  patience  that  re 
bukes  vicissitudes. 

She  who  had  despaired  now  rallies  as  the  lag 
gard  days  go  by 

And  inclines  to'ard  hope,  through  instinct,  for 
to  lose  it  were  to  die. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Surely  naught  of  hope  lies  yonder  where  bleak 

glaciers  mark  the  south, 
Surely  naught  of  promise  glistens  in  the  river's 

ice-choked  mouth, 

Yet  she  clings  in  stubborn  courage  that  the 

North  alone  can  give 
To  some  undefined  impression  that  is  hope  in 

things  that  live. 

Tokohoma  tends  his  game  snares  going  out 

each  day  at  dawn 
To    retrace   each    feath'ry    footmark   ere   the 

mists  of  morn  are  gone ; 

When  the  drifts  are  deeply  crusted  and  when 

clement  winds  abide 
He  is  seen  on  plain  and  upland,  a  companion 

by  his  side. 

Oft  their  forms  are  silhouetted  on  the  dull 

sky's  yellow  rim 
As  they  swing  o'er  rise  and  lowland,  strong 

of  breath  and  free  of  limb. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRA<3. 

Hindered  by  no  clinging  garments,   wearied 

by  no  useless  dress 
She  who  stands  in  fur  and  buckskin  stands  a 

woman  none  the  less 

\Yith  the  touch  sublime  and  subtle,  deeply  ly 
ing,  that  defies 

Any  form  of  garb  to  change  it,  any  custom  to 
disguise. 

Mile  on  mile  is  quickly  covered  over  stretches 

bleak  and  bare — 
Thus  she  finds  the    panacea    that    can    cope 

against  despair, 

Thus  contrives  to  tire  her  body  that  all  thought 

may  be  at  rest 
And  remains  abroad  the  longer  when  her  heart 

is  most  distressed. 

Tokohoma  ne'er  surmises  what  is  passing  in 

her  mind, 
In   his   self-hallucination   he   remains   content 

and  blind. 


53 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

And   construes    to   suit   his   pleasure    sighs 

that  inadvertent  start 
While  she  feeds,  all  unsuspecting,  the  strange 

passion  of  his  heart. 

Time  comes  round  when  such  long  rambles  fail 

to  bring  the  peace  desired 
When   against   her   hopeful   courage   all   the 

Northland  seems  conspired; 

Its  great,  glistening  plains  appal  her,  its  relent- 

lessness  affrights, 
Menace  taints  the  gloomy  story  its  forbidding 

finger  writes 

And  she  ofttimes  seeks  the  shelter  of  the  cabin 
tired,  unnerved, 

There  to  shut  away  the  picture,  there  to  sor 
row  unobserved, 

There  to  feel  the  hope  for  succor  sink  beneath 

assailing  doubt 
And  a  poignant  dread  steal  o'er  her  of  those 

silent  ways  without. 


54 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CKAG. 

One  day  prostrate  thus,  but  hiding  each  dis 
tress  of  heart  and  mind 

Lest  the  tears  should  seem  ungrateful,  and  the 
discontent  unkind. 

One  day,  just  as  twilight  darkens  to  the  shade 

that  evening  wears 
And   she  bends   in   deep    attention    o'er    her 

meager  household  cares, 

Far  from  out  the  void  comes  trembling  that 
which  makes  her  pulses  start, 

That  which  holds  the  blood  suspended  in  the 
ways  that  touch  her  heart ; 

Something  vague,  and  yet  apparent,  tangible, 

and  still  unreal, 
Seems    to    spread    in    widening    circles    and 

through  all  the  Northland  steal ; 

Something  undefined,  elusive,  that  a  moment 

fills  the  pause 
Lying   'twixt  her  heart's   sensations   and  the 

question  of  the  cause, 


55 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF   THE    CRAG. 

Loud,  then  soft,  then  sunk  to  nothing,  as  each 
air-gust  fades  and  swells, 

Intermittent  sound  and  silence  like  the  rhyth 
mic  swing  of  bells. 

On  the  wind  seems  borne  the  fragment  of  a 

trailing,  broken  word, 
Quick  she  turns,  but  Tokohoma  gives  no  sign 

if  he  has  heard, 

And  she  scarce  has  lent  attention  to  her  small 

pursuits  again, 
Checking  what  she  would  have  spoken,  pond'- 

ring  what  it  may  have  been, 

When  a  gust  of  stronger  pressure  sweeping 

past  the  cabin  door 
Brings  the  sound  in  vibrant  measure,  this  time 

louder  than  before. 

This   time   there   is   no   mistaking,   this   time 

Tokohoma  hears, 
Quick  he  gains  the  cabin  doorway,  through  the 

purpling  twilight  peers 


56 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


To  behold  a  muffled  figure  swinging  o'er  the 

dark'ning  snow, 
And  to  meet  a  salutation  sounded  in  a  deep 

"Hallo!" 

Scarcely  is  the  greeting  answered,  scarce  the 

first  surprise  is  o'er, 
Ere  the  dogs  and  sled  sweep  circling  to  a 

halt  before  the  door; 

Here   they   loom  unreal  and   spectral   in  the 

slow  declining  light 
While    the    stranger's   hearty   accents   beg   a 

shelter  for  the  night. 

It  is  said,  by  them  that  suffer,  that  despair 

alone  can  kill, 

These  have  never  known  the  anguish  of  a  great 
joy's  sudden  thrill. 

She,  within,  stands  tense  and  rigid,  like  to  one 

of  power  bereft, 
And,  from  out  fast  merging  senses,  finds  but 

expectation  left 


57 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


When  at  last  they  stand  together  in  the  half 

lit,  low  walled  place, 
Deep  and  differing  emotions  showing  plainly 

in  each  face. 

O,  what  energy  is  wasted  in  pursuit  of  false 

desires ! 
O,  what  sacrifices  redden,  feeding  useless  altar 

fires! 

Through  the  world  we  seek  life's  touchstone, 
ardently,  from  sun  to  sun, 

And  the  hour  'tis  least  expected,  lo,  the  won 
drous  thing  is  done. 

And  'tis  not  the  wealth  of  wisdom,  and  'tis 
not  the  glint  of  gold, 

It  is  not  the  thing  long  dreamed  of,  that  ob 
tained,  we  priceless  hold 

But  a  rainbow  tinted  bubble  showing,  to  aston 
ished  eyes, 

Giant  plan  and  cherished  purpose  dwarft  to 
things  of  pigmy  size ; 


58 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


And   the    shimmering    opalescence    that    fills 

earth  and  sky  above 
Is  the  old,  familiar  story,  which  is  all,  for  it 

is  love. 

In  the  time  it  takes  the  glances  to  observe  the 
lightning's  sheen 

It  was  done,  yet  not  so  quickly  but  one  watch 
ing  there  has  seen ; 

In   the   redman   dormant   passions   to   their 

channels  wildly  set 
As  the  look  of  maid  and  stranger  tell  that 

kindred  souls  have  met. 


59 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


VIII. 

When  we  love,  the  thing  that  frets  us  is  un 
willingly  believed, 

We  are  wroth  with  doubts  of  warning,  happier, 
far,  to  be  deceived; 

Some  strange  madness  holds  us  sanguine  e'en 

beneath  suspicion's  frown 
And  we  scarce  admit  disaster  when  our  house 

of  cards  goes  down. 

So  it  is  with  Tokohoma  when  the  first  wild 

flush  is  o'er, 
When  the  inward  tumult  settles  to  the  calm  it 

knew  before, 

With   the    difference   that   his    passions   now 

awakened  to  distrust 
Lie,  a  lake  of  seething  lava,  straining  at  the 

broken  crust. 


00 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


But  he  makes  each  doubt  subservient  to  the 

hope  that  love  inspires 
And  continues  blind  and  stubborn  in  the  way 

of  his  desires. 

Many  morns  have  now  been  numbered  by 
the  sun's  uncertain  light 

Since  the  stranger  begged  the  favor  of  a  shel 
ter  for  the  night. 

When  came  troops  of  urgent  promptings  that 

he  should  resume  his  way 
Compromise  would  'wait  on  duty  to  result  in 

fresh  delay. 

She  of  gentle  heart,  full  naively,  all  her  sweet 
persuasion  lends 

And  through  days  of  happy  converse  the  pro 
tracted  stay  extends ; 

Time  is  tuned  to  love  and  raptures  that  no 

further  wish  comprise 
Than  the  priv'lege  of  confession,  told  already 

through  the  eyes. 


61 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Life  takes  on  a  brighter  color  in  the  days  that 
follow  this, 

All  the  Northland  seems  transfigured  as  be 
neath  an  angel's  kiss ; 

Maid  and  lover  find  new  beauty  in  the  vari- 

tinted  sky, 
Watch    together   bright   plumed    eagles    that, 

o'er  hilltops,  circling  fly, 

Hunt  the  home  of  snowflowers  nestling  in  the 

bosom  of  the  drifts 
And   explore,   like   happy   children,   caves   of 

overhanging  rifts. 

Sometimes,  in  excess  of  spirits,  when  she  lifts 

her  voice  in  song 
It    is   heard    by    Tokohoma.    faintly,    as    he 

speeds  along 

With  his  steps  still  to'ard  the  darkness  of  the 
Great  Crag  in  the  west 

And  the  hope  of  love  still  vibrant  to  each  pulse- 
beat  of  his  breast. 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Since  that  night  of  jealous  anger  when   the 

stranger  first  appeared 
He  has  held  in  leash  his  passions  and  dismissed 

the  things  he  feared. 

'Tis  his  way  with  mooted  questions  to  re 
volve  them  o'er  and  o'er, 

But  when  once  they  are  decided  to  revert  to 
them  no  more. 

Thus  his  usual  projects  find  him  with  a  clear. 

untroubled  mind. 
With  no  anxious  doubt  attaching  to  the  pair 

he  leaves  behind, 

Who,  their  happy  love  indulging,  greet  each 

other  at  the  dawn 
With  no  thought  of  Tokohoma  save  that  he 

abroad  is  gone. 

Glad  that  day  is  here  before  them  where  the 

darkness  late  has  been 
Glad  to  roam  their  snow-ringed  Eden  giv'n 

to  love  each  other  in. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Still  they  watch  the  sun-shafts  brighten 
through  the  overhanging  haze 

All  unskilled  to  read  the  secret  of  those  tower 
ing  peaks  they  praise, 

All  unconscious  that  the  Great  Crag  shows 
beneath  the  rising  sun. 

That  the  work  will,  'neath  its  shadow,  in  a  lit 
tle  time  be  done. 

Love,   confessed,   at   last   lies   tranquil    'neath 

contentment  that  it  brings 
And  the  talk  of  maid  and  stranger  turns  again 

to  other  things; 

Plan  and  project  half  forgotten  in  the  joys 

that  nearer  pressed 
Now   return   Avith    deeper   interest,   fevered 

with  the  old  unrest. 

When  the  lover  shares  the  secret  of  his  mission 

there,  it  seems 
Warp  and  woof  of  that  frail  fabric  which  the 

substance  is  of  dreams ; 


64 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


Deep  the  story  is  with  interest,  he  who  tells 

it  halts  for  breath 
Like  to  him  from  whom  he  had  it  ere  his  lips 

were  sealed  in  death. 

Meager  word   he  has   for  guidance,   menrry 

only  serves  for  plan. 
But  'tis  here,  this  wealth  of  Croesus,  in  the 

circle  of  a  span. 

Once  again  the  Xorth  is  calling  with  the  siren 

voice  of  old, 
Once  again  ambition   trembles   with  the  lust 

for  yellow  gold. 

Once  again  the  tinkling  sledge-bells  fret  the 

silence  of  the  dawn 
And  return  to  find  the  snow-house  when  the 

shades  of  night  are  drawn. 

Days  are  spent  in  fruitless  effort,  empty  search, 

and  useless  toil, 
Hope   sustained  on  that  which   fails  it  must 

upon  itself  recoil. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

But  the  sting  of  disappointment  when  the 
primal  pain  is  o'er, 

Leaves  the  stranger  still  as  eager,  and  as  san 
guine  as  before. 

Thus  he  spends  the  time  indulging  old  am 
bitions,  hope  compels; 

Thus  each  night  the  maid  who  loves  him 
listens,  listens,  for  the  bells, 

And  their  distant,  muffled  echo  lightly  tossed 
from  mound  to  mound 

Rolls  but  faint,  still  all  her  being  leaps  respon 
sive  to  the  sound. 

Yet,  at  times,  come  vague  present'ments,  that, 

in  terror,  hold  her  dumb ; 
What   if   never   from   the   silence   should   the 

sledge-bells  tinkling  come? 

What  if  yonder  sun  declining  mark  the  epoch 

with  its  beams 
When  her  soul  shall  wake  to  torment  from  the 

joy  of  empty  dreams? 


66 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


Thus,   full  oft,  she  frets  her  spirit  with  the 

pain  of  love's  alarms, 
Thus,  full  oft,  misgivings  vanish,  fading  'neath 

protecting  arms. 

Once,  when  such  grave  dread  assails  her  that 

her  eyes  o'erflow  with  tears, 
And  her  lover  soothes  with  kisses  all  her  doubts 

and   foolish   fears, 

One   approaching   to'ard   the   cabin   where   a 

ling'ring  sunbeam  plays, 
Stops  without  to  view  the  picture,  as  it  were, 

through  crimson  haze ; 

From  his  back,  as  is  his  custom,  flings  his  game 

upon  the  floor, 
But  omits  the  usual  greeting  as  he  steps  within 

the  door. 


67 


N    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


IX. 


Morn  across  the  endless  snow-fields  creeps  re 
luctantly  and  gray, 

Loath  to  mock  the  dead,  bleak  silence  with  the 
light  of  coming  day, 

Heavy  o'er  each  hill  and  river  slow  it  steals 

with  laggard  feet 
Where  the  hoar  frost  clings  in  garlands  like 

a  mold'ring  winding-sheet; 

It  would  seem  that  some  stray  life-throb 
should,  at  dawn,  in  gladness  start 

But  the  whole  white  stretch  lies  pulseless,  cold 
and  sullen  to  its  heart. 

Yet  about  the  cabin  yonder  signs  of  waking 

motion  shows, 

But  'tis  alien  to  the  landscape  and  the  great 
North's  grim  repose. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

First  the  sledge-dogs  start  the  echoes  to  an 
nounce  that  night  is  fled 

Springing  up  to  greet  the  sunlight  from  each 
warm,  snow-burrowed  bed. 

From    the   snow-house   conies     the     stranger. 

drowsy  still  beneath  some  dream 
Half    regretting   that    'twas     broken     by    the 

clamor  of  the  team. 

All  night  long  had  sleep  been  troubled,  all 
night  long  had  shadows  pressed 

Round  his  couch  to  lend  discomfort  and  with 
discord  fill  his  breast: 

Faces  had,  in  wanton  fashion  flashing  by.  re 
signed  their  place 

To  a  mask,  that  came  and  vanished,  like  to 
Tokohoma's  face. 

But  when  day  in  listless  motion  o'er  the  hills 

began  to  creep 
Then  his  troubled  mind  had  drifted  to  a  calmer, 

sweeter  sleep. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF   THE    CRAG. 

Filled  with  vagrant  fancies  merging  to  a  better, 
happier  trend 

That  the  outcry  from  the  sledge-dogs  inter 
rupted  ere  the  end. 

Soon  the  eager  team,  full  harnessed,  stands 

impatient  for  the  start, 
Once  again  the  lover,  turning,  holds  the  maiden 

to  his  heart, 

Who,  with  that  vague  fear  upon  her  which 
from  too  great  love  will  grow7, 

Closely  clings  to  him  in  silence,  strangely 
loath  to  let  him  go. 

When  his  form  is  but  a  shadow  in  the  dis 
tance  these  alarms 

Haunt  her  still  and  through  perverseness  seem 
to  mock  her  empty  arms ; 

But  to  quell  each  fond  misgiving  soon  more 

cheerful  thoughts  arise, 
Sanguine  dreams  of  fairer  countries  bring  back 

hope  to  wistful  eyes, 


70 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

She,   pretending,   reads   the   future   from   the 

book's  unopened  leaves 

\Yith  attention  keenly  busy  on  the  woof  that 
fancy  weaves. 

All  day  long  she  feels  the  promise  of  a  happier 

fortune  spring, 
All  day  long  bright  hopes  around  her  like  a 

benediction  cling 

And  when  night  across  the   Xorthland   in  a 

heavy  pall  is  drawn 
She,   in   doubt,   can   scarce   accredit  that   the 

happy  day  is  gone. 

Household  duties  now  commanding,  quick  she 

trims  a  feeble  light, 
Stops  between  her  cares  to  listen  to  the  noises 

of  the  night; 

Something  yonder,  tense  and  sullen,  sweeps 
the  earth  with  broken  moan, 

She  who  hears  stands  dumb  and  rigid  like  an 
image  carved  in  stone. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Far,    far   out,    each    surging   air-gust    fateful 

forces  swift  invites — 
This  the  sound  is  that,  full-swelling,  spoke  of 

death  that  night  of  nights ! 

Round  the  hut  stray,  hurried  snowflakes  com 
ing  forces  half  reveal, 

Bitter  cold  through  chink  and  cranny  pierces 
like  the  thrust  of  steel. 

In  the  lulls  that  come  abruptly,  quick  succeed 
ing  fitful  swells, 

She,  within,  in  deep  attention,  once  more 
listens  for  the  bells, 

Once  more  hears  their  muffled  music  roll  along 

the  changing  mounds 
Once  more  marks  each  tinkling  cadence  trail 

away  in  broken  sounds, 

Once  more  waits  within  the  cabin  where  such 

happiness  has  been 
Till  the  low-browed  door  shall  open  and  her 

lover  enter  in. 


72 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


Footsteps  o'er  the  snow  come  creaking  to  an 
nounce  him  near,  at  last. 

Soon  the  cabin  door  swings  shiv'ring  from 
before  a  biting  blast 

That  sweeps  walls,  and  floor,  and  ceiling, 
shrieking  loud  in  mad  delight. 

Then  whirls  back,  past  Tokohoma,  to  be 
lost  within  the  night. 

For   the   time   that   spans   a   moment   still   he 

stands  without  remark, 
Strangely   tall    his    stalwart    figure     looms 

against  the  outer  dark. 

In  his  black  hair  frost  wreaths  glisten,  snow- 
flakes  fleck  his  wolfskin  coat. 

Torn,  perhaps  by  jagged  boulders,  and  loose 
hanging  at  the  throat. 

Sullenly  at  last  he  enters,  to  all  outward  pres 
ence  blind. 

Deeply  sunk  'twould  seem  in  problems  that 
revolve  within  his  mind. 


7°, 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Lightly  moves  the  maid  preparing  that  which 

forms  the  evening  meal, 
But  full  oft  to'ard  Tokohoma  do  her  furtive 

glances  steal ; 

To  her  mind  come  wild  suggestions  that  her 

inmost   soul  rejects, 
She  refuses  as  preposterous  this  strange  thing 

she  half  suspects; 

Then  the  truth  comes  full  upon  her  sharp,  con 
vincing,  clear  defined, 

And  explains  much  bitter  rancor  in  the  heart 
once  known  as  kind. 

As  the  falcon  stares  bewildered  when  first 
loosed  from  jess  and  hood 

So  she,  dazed,  now  looks  on  actions  until  now 
misunderstood ; 

In  the  light  of  this  revealing  she  becomes  con 
fused  and  dumb — 

They  must  go,  herself  and  lover,  lest  some 
fearful  evil  come. 


74 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Tokohoma,  sitting  silent,  makes  as  if  he  would 

arise, 
There  seems  menace  in  his  action,  there  seems 

madness  in  his  eyes ; 

O'er  the  maid  sweep  vague  presentments, 
what  they  are  she  scarce  can  say, 

But  her  heart  reads  evil  omen  in  her  lover's 
long  delay. 

In  this  drift  of  speculation  time  has  passed 
not  marked  before, 

Up  she  starts,  alarmed  and  anxious,  swift  pro 
ceeds  toward  the  door 

And  when  faint  and  all  but  sinking  'neath  the 

problem  of  her  doubt 
Tokohoma   flashes   past   her    and    in    frenzy 

rushes  out. 

Out,   far   out,  his   form   soon   merges  in  the 

shadows  of  the  west ; 
Out,   far  out,  with  dread  emotions  storming 

fiercely  in  his  breast. 


75 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


Glad  he  is  to  whip  through  wind-gusts  sweep 
ing  by  with  broken  wail, 

Glad  he  is  to  buffet  forces  marshalled  for  the 
gathering  gale ; 

Swift  he  spurns  each  ice-clad  boulder,  heedless 

passes  trap  and  lure, 
Scorns  to  cling  where  shallow  footholds  mark 

the  way  as  insecure. 

Wildly  leaps  each  drift  and  chasm,  desp'rate 

till  the  goal  be  won 
And  at  last  stands  torn  and  bleeding  'neath 

the  Great  Crag  of  the  Sun. 

Scudding  clouds  that  fly  wind  driven,  show  a 

path  of  ghostly  light 
Where  the  pale  moon,  hanging  distant,  seems 

to  mock  the  frozen  night. 

In  a  patch  of  open  sky-line  where  the  forces 

thinly  set 
Tokohoma's  storm-swept  figure  shows  in  inky 

silhouette ; 


76 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

He.  like  one  in  sudden  madness,  bares  his 

temples  to  the  blast. 
Caring  not  for  dangers  present,  dwelling  not 

on  dangers  past; 

He  disdains  each  giant  wind-gust  tha,t  assails 

his  eerie  place 
And  that  lifts  his  hair  and  flings  it  like  a 

whip  across  his  face 

But  he  feels  no  outward  lashing  of  his  passion 

driven  form 
And  his  wild,  disheveled    figure    seems    the 

spirit  of  the  storm. 

Once,  his  arms  he  stretches  upward  like  to  one 

who  bears  the  pain 
Of  a  grief,  that  grown  to  crush  him,  he  no 

longer  may  sustain, 

Then,  as  if  to  thwart  emotions  out  of  which 

such  weakness  grew. 
Quickly  turns  toward  the  cavern  and  the  work 

left  still  to  do. 


77 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


When  desires  that  love  has  cherished,  when  the 

life  that  love  has  planned 
Fade  away  in  swift  destruction  ere  we  come  to 

understand, 

Then  'tis  not  the  final  wrecking  of  our  hopes 

that  rends  the  heart 
But  the  looking  on  the  dumb  things  that  have 

been  of  love  a  part. 

Tokohoma  takes  the  pouches,  one  by  one,  from 

out  their  place 
And   a   wave   of   tender   feeling   hotly   burns 

within  his  face ; 

Dreams  are  here,  and  fancied  projects,  in  these 

mooseskin  pouches  rolled, 
Hopes  and  sweet  anticipations,  garnered  with 

the  gathered  gold; 

Here   are   gentle   thoughts   compelling   to'ard 

the  love  he  hoped  to  win 
And  beneath  each  thong  some  life-drop  of  his 

heart  is  fastened  in. 


78 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Rouse  thyself,  O  Tokohoma,  let  thy  inner 

soul  be  dumb; 
Is  it  royal  prince,  or  woman,  that  can  thus  be 


Thou  hast  seen  a  star  swing  hither  and  its 

orbit  touched  thy  course — 
It  has  passed — thy  way  is  yonder,  true  to  thy 

compelling  force. 

Rouse  thyself  and  let  the  temper  of  thy  fathers 

in  thee  speak, 
Let  thy  manhood  shame  the  weakness  showing 

pallid  on  thy  cheek, 

And  the  work  that  brought  thee  hither,  let  it 
be  completely  done, 

It  is  well  that  hope  should  end  here  where  tin- 
folly  was  begun. 

Then,  beneath  the  crag  is  motion  that  would 

kin  to  frenzy  seem. 
In   the   fitful   light  quick  flashes   that   which 

shows  with  velvet  gleam ; 


79 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Down,  deep  down,  through  space  descending-, 
hard  and  yellow,  shining,  cold. 

Leaps,  with  sudden  flings  and  dashes,  hoard  on 
hoard  of  glist'ning  gold ; 

Down  it  springs  like  bright  blades  flashing, 
each  removed  from  shrouding  sheath, 

Till  it  hides  within  the  shadows  of  the  river 
far  beneath. 

When  at  last  the  task  is  ended  Tokohoma  turns 

his  face 
And   looks   long   toward   the   cabin,   standing 

rigid  in  his  place ; 

In  his  pose  is  that  intenseness  of  a  question 

deep  involved, 
In  his  look  that  indecision  of  a  purpose  half 

resolved ; 

But  he  turns  aside  suggestions,  holding  one 

alone  exempt 
And  at  last  this,  too,  dismisses  with  a  gesture 

of  contempt. 


80 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Wild  and  strange  his  form  in  shadow  marks 

itself  against  the  light 
As  he  turns  and  sets  sharp  northward  to  be  lost 

within  the  night. 


81 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 


X. 


When  the  storm  is  spent  and  morning  in  the 

curtained  east  is  shown 
Then  the  Northland,  cold  and  empty,  comes 

again  into  its  own. 

Naught  disturbs  the  lonely  distance  save  a 

cry  that  spreads  afar 
As  a  wolf,  on  crouching  haunches,  points  his 

nose  toward  a  star. 

Landmarks  that  were  things  familiar  lie  in 
consequent  and  strange ; 

Where  was  life  now  seems  existent  some  mute 
evidence  of  change, 

Restless  snow-drifts  hedge  the  cabin  and  the 
snow-house  close  about 

And  the  paths  before  their  doorways  are  for 
ever  blotted  out. 


82 


IX    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

Like  a  wraith,  the  chill  of  morning  through  the 

hut,  unhindered,  steals 
And  it  writes  in  silver  tracings  of  the  things 

the  light  reveals, 

Yet  it  can  record  no  motion  that  the  distant 

dawn  awoke 
Save  that  from  the  lamp,  still  burning,  trails  a 

line  of  quiv'ring  smoke ; 

Too,   a   sheet   of   snow,   thin   drifted,    creeps 

across  the  cabin  floor 
Like  a  restless  ghost,  and  yonder,  just  outside 

the  open  door, 

Tiny  whirls  of  powd'ry  lightness  hiss  against 

a  growing  mound 
That  has   ris'n  to  hide  beneath   it  what  has 

stained  the  frozen  ground. 

Fitful  gusts  of  wind,  sharp  circling,  quickly 

fill  each  sunken  rift 
Cov'ring    close    the    sledge's    burden    lying 

deep  within  the  drift. 


IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    CRAG. 

When  the  laggard  sun,  slow  mounting,  gives 

the  day  a  deeper  glow 
Then   is   shown   two    quiet    figures    outlined 

'neath  the  drifted  snow, 

One  a  man's  is,  all  unconscious  that  his  blood 
less  lips  are  pressed 

By  a  woman,  who,  still  kneeling,  clasps  her 
lover  to  her  breast. 

In  the  North  the  air  hangs  heavy  'neath  the 

silence  of  the  years 
And  the  wind  moans  low  and  broken  cs  it 

sweeps  between  the  spheres. 


EARTH *S  LESSON. 


EARTH'S  LESSON. 


Why  should  we  not  bring  smiles  instead  of  tears 
To  lay  upon  the  altar-stone  of  God? 
Why  hold  beliefs  of  superstitious  years 
That  dwarf  the  spirit  with  discordant  fears 
And  outrage  flesh  with  harsh,  insulting  rod? 

Why  should  we  not  come  singing  to  the  throne 
With  hearts  that  in  ebulliency  of  joy 
Seem  bursting  from  their  cells,  too  narrow  grown? 
O,  why  should  man  reap  nothing  of  the  sown 
But  tares,  and  all  the  beautiful  destroy? 

The  feast  is  spread  and  we  are  asked  to  dine ; 

What  sullenness  of  temper  does  it  show 

To  rudely  turn  from  kindly  proffered  wine 

And  pass  with  shielded  eyes  where  splendors  shine. 

The  Father  never  meant  it  should  be  so. 


87 


THEN    AS    NOW. 


Sing,  sing  fair  earth,  till  every  silent  throat 
Responds  unto  the  life-song  of  your  sod 
And  thunder-sounding  rolls  each  swelling  note ; 
And  teach  us  by  your  own  sweet,  simple  rote 
To  smile  beneath  the  kindlv  smile  of  God. 


THEN  AS  NOW. 

Long,  long  ago  when  butterflies 
Could  converse  hold,  and  let  men  know 
Their  wants,  they  caught  the  traits  of  men 
As  I  will  undertake  to  show. 


Two  butterflies  were  winging  past 
King  Solomon's  temple,  grand  and  vast ; 
From  touch  of  wing  and  foolish  flutter 
'Twas  plain  unto  the  most  benighted, 
Their  troth  had  just  that  day  been  plighted. 


Sfi 


THEN    AS    NOW. 


Like  maid  perplexed  when  blushes  come, 
My  Lady  Butterfly  was  dumb. 
Rut,  bursting  with  his  own  importance. 
My  great  Lord  Butterfly,  loquacious, 
Spoke  of  himself  in  way  audacious. 

''You  see  yon  temple,  dear,"  he  said ; 
She  answered,  "Yes,"  by  nod  of  head ; 
"\Yell,  with  my  wing,  all  down  encovered, 
I  easily  those  pillars,  polished. 
Could  tumble  at  your  feet,  demolished." 

This  bold  remark  was  overheard 

By  Solomon  :    "L^pon  my  word 

Who  ever  knew  such  braggart  boasting?" 

Then  calling  him  aside,  demanded 

\Yhv  he  should  lie  thus  open-handed. 

Returning  to  his  mate  at  last, 

She,  woman-like,  asked  what  had  passed ; 

And  he,  man-like,  to  stop  at  nothing 

So.  with  eclat,  he  might  come  through  it. 

Replied.  "He  asked  me  not  to  do  it." 


89 


THE   EARTH-CALL. 


THE  EARTH-CALL. 

To  you,  in  cowl  and  gown, 

Who    stand   aloof   with    hands    crossed    on    your 

breast 

And  patient  head  bowed  down, 
Do  wild  thoughts  ever  come? 
Do  ghosts  of  former  hours  now  long  since  spent 
In  phantom  shape  renew  the  joys  they  lent 
And  hold  you  in  their  vagaries  of  air ; 
Do  you  at  times  awake  to  find  your  prayer 
Forgotten,  and  lips  dumb? 

Beneath  that  sober  garb 

Do  vagrant  longings  ever  stir  to  vex 

Your  heart  with  cruel  barb? 

Do  dreams  you  thought  long  crushed 

Rush  full  upon  you  o'er  your  weakening  will 

And  make  your  pulses  leap  with  quickening  thrill? 

What  guilty  blush  is  this  that  stains  your  cheek? 


90 


THE   EARTH-CALL. 


The  scourge,  the  scourge  for  one  avowed  so  weak 
Till  lawlessness  is  hushed. 

Do  voices  from  the  throng, 

Strange,  weird  world-voices,  ever  reach  your  heart 

And  still  your  matin  song? 

Do  you,  too,  ever  seem 

To  see  the  better  happiness  afar 

And,  when  'tis  day,  long  for  the  night's  pale  star, 

Then,  scarce  the  night  comes,  wish  the  day  again? 

Your  lot  is  but  the  common  lot  of  men ; 

Back  to  your  beads — to  dream. 


91 


THE  GREATER  VICTORY. 


THE    GREATER    VICTORY. 

There  was  a  way,  a  joy,  a  mystic,  unnamed  thing 

A  dreamer  sought — 
As    vague   as   air   that's   troubled   by   a    swallow's 

wing — 
Ideal,   intangible,   and   shadow- fraught. 


Impossible  it  seemed,  so  much  it  held  desired, 

So  much  implied, 
So  near,  yet  so  re'mote ;  uncertainty  conspired 

To  make  it  seem  by  distance  deified. 


One    day    the    prize    was    gained;    he    struggled 

through   despair, 
Through    ways    defiled, 
To    grasp    a    poisoned    cup;    the    watching    world 

stood  there 
And  so  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips  and  smiled. 


THE  LOVE-PLAINT. 


THE  LOVE-PLAINT. 

For  my  love  and  me 

How  the  robins  sang  in  the  greenwood  tree, 

How  the  great  bell's  voice 

In  the  church  afar  made  the  hills  rejoice 

For  my  love  and  me. 

On  the  sun-kissed  lea, 

Where  the  wanton  flower  lures  the  roving  bee. 

There  we  rested  long. 

And  the  whole  world  throbbed  to  the  passion-song 

Of  my  love  and  me. 

Ah,  my  love  and  me, 

How  we  creep  afar  lest  the  world  shall  see 

What  my  arms  enfold: 

O,  the  way  is  long  and  the  world  is  cold 

F~or  mv  love  and  me. 


AT  SAN   JUAN   CAPISTRANO- 


AT  SAN  JUAN  CAPISTRANO*. 

The  story  runs  thus:  'Twas  a  sabbath  morn 
So  still  that  no  leaf  of  the  tasseled  corn 
Which  weighted  the  stalks  in  the  neighb'ring  field 
By  rustle  or  tremor  a  breeze  revealed ; 
A  pastoral  scene  that  was  fair  to  view, 
With  cattle  in  clover-flecked  fields  of  dew, 
And  the  sun  just  touching  with  burnished  gold 
San  Juan  Capristrano,  the  mission  old. 

With  them  that  kneel  down  'neath  its  arches,  dim, 
In  the  love  of  their  hearts  to  remember  Him 
Is  she,  who,  low-bowed  in  her  place  of  prayer, 
Seems  shunned  by  the  faithful  who  gather  there; 
Bright  feminine  eyes  on  her  fair  face  rest, 
On  her  rounded  arm  and  her  swelling  breast, 
And  each  seems  inclined  to  deny  assent 
To  beauty  that  sins  and  is  penitent. 

Out  yonder  a  silence  shrouds  copse  and  hill 
And   fastens  the  valley  within   its  thrill; 
A  ponderous  terror  that  creeps  along 
And  hushes  the  notes  of  the  thrush's  song, 


94 


AT  SAX   JUAX   CAPISTRANO. 


A  sullen,  intangible,  grewsome  thing, 
The  shadow,  unseen,  of  a  monster-wing, 
That  gathers  the  steeps  in  its  mystic  clutch 
And  palsies  the  air  with  mesmeric  touch. 

The  animate  harken ;  the  silence  speaks ; 
Back  flashes  the  answer  in  fear-blanched  cheeks, 
And  horrors,  half  dreamed  of,  suspended  lie 
In  the  beat  of  the  breath  and  the  wid'ning  eye ; 
A  rumble,  a  rending,  a  power  compressed 
That  tortures  the  hills  with  its  deep  unrest, 
A  shiver,  a  pause,  then  the  temblor's  hurled 
In  the  white  of  its  wrath  on  a  helpless  world. 

The  mystery  gathers  within  the  dell 
And  hushes  the  sound  of  the  mission  bell, 
It  razes  the  stones  with  its  lev'ling  rod 
And  crushes  the  cries  that  are  raised  to  God. 
No  soul,  in  the  chapel,  that  felt  its  breath 
But  rushed  to  the  doors  to  a  frenzied  death 
Save  her  who  was  shunned ;  lest  her  faint  heart  fail 
She  had  knelt,  in  her  faith,  at  the  altar  rail. 

*When  the  proud  old  mission  at  Capistrano  was  tumbled 
by  an  earthquake  the  arch  over  the  altar  was  the  only  one 
that  stood. 


WHEN  LOVE  BETRAYS. 


WHEN  LOVE  BETRAYS. 

The  banshee  frets  the  night  with  dismal  cry ; 
Some  twenty  times  across  the  wind-swept  dune 
I've  heard  it  come,  now  shrill,  now  scarce  a  sigh 
That  iloats  beneath  the  weird  and  pallid  moon 
Like  some  dread  echo  moaning  in  reply. 

Your  lover  soon  will  come;  rest  yet  awhile 
Till  yonder  length 'ning  shadow  darkly  dips 
And  lays  its  ringer  on  the  sleeping  dial, 
Then  wake  the  heavy  silence  of  your  lips 
And  rouse  their  languor  to  a  welcome  smile. 

Who  knocks  without?     You  are  impatient,  friend, 
But  eager  lover  knows  not  how  to  wait. 
Perhaps  your  mistress  in  good  time  will  send 
And  raise  the  hopes  that  droop  disconsolate. 
Have  patience,  doors  must  open,  nights  must  end. 


96 


WHEN    LOVE  BETRAYS. 


What!  Yet  again?  Could  you,  beyond  the  door. 
Behold  the  stillness  of  this  covered  thing, 
This  huddled  horror  prone  upon  the  floor 
And  watch  the  growth  of  yonder  eddying  ring 
I  wonder  would  you  seek  admittance  more? 

How  near  that  cry!  Could  I  have  heard  aright? 
It  seemed  to  live  within  the  very  room. 
\Yhat  fiend  conspires  to  fill  me  with  affright? 
Vague  portents  breathe  within  the  murky  gloom 
And  fraught  with  menace  is  the  sullen  night. 

\Yhat  work,  what  work,  to  show  to-morrow's  sun. 
O,  why,  poor  weakling,  why  did  you  not  live 
And  keep  unstained  these  sands  so  nearly  run? 

#  *  5JC  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * 

Xow,  you  without !  let  Fate  her  verdict  give 
What   life   shal1   answer   for   the   thing   I've   done. 


THE  DREAMER. 


THE  DREAMER 

My  way  is  this:  To  rest  in  the  shade 
Deep  in  the  dusk  of  some  whispering  glade 
Drowsily  happy  and  satisfied; 
Great  are  the  wonders  that  grow  apace 
Out  of  the  heart  of  such  hallowed  place; 
Weird  with  a  theme  I  may  not  repeat 
Pipes  of  Pan  lull  me  with  music  sweet; 
Few  know  the  path  from  the  highway  wide 
To  way  that  is  mine,  in  the  shade,  aside. 

My  way  is  this:     Apart  from  the  strife, 

Far  from  the  tumult  of  clamorous  life, 

Courting  the  comfort  the  throng  denied, 

Having  no  care  when  the  day  is  done 

If  I  shall  look  on  to-morrow's  sun ; 

Glad  in  the  light  of  the  thing  that  seems, 

Happy  to  live  in  my  idle  dreams. 

This  is  no  highway  the  world  may  ride, 

This    way   that   is   mine,    in   the   shade,   aside. 


98 


THE   WANTON. 


THE   WANTON. 


I    planted   a   rose   in   the   sandy   soil   of   an 

unkept   garden   bare. 
It  fastened  its  roots  down  deep  in  the  earth 

and  lifted  its  head  in  the  air, 
It   flung   its   arms   to   the   summer's   sky  and 

opened  its  heart  to  the  sun, 
And  seductively  pressed  its  lips  to  the  breeze 

in  joy  of  the  deed  I  had  done. 


Its  crimson  heart  was  as  red  and  sweet  as  the 

lips  of  a  woman  I  knew, 
And  I  came  to  liken  the  wanton  thing  to  her 

beauty  as  it  grew, 
It  would  blush  and  pant  in  the  sun's  hot  ray 

and  tremble  with  sweet  delight 
As  the  southern  wind  pressed  warm  and  close 

to  its  heart  in  the  sultry  night. 


99 


THE   WANTON. 


It  would  quiver  and  bend  as  the  passionate 

wind  pressed  close  with  hot  caress. 
And   nod   and   sigh   as  the  bees  flew  by  and 

flirt  its  scarlet  dress, 
1   grew   to   hate   its   wanton   way,   despise   its 

heart  of  flame, 
Abhor    its    maddening    sweetness,    withheld 

from  none  who  came. 

So  1  crushed  its  life  in  my  hand  one  day,  in 

passion  its  roots  uptore, 
And  panting  with  shame  and  anger  gazed  on 

my  unkept  ground  once  more, 
I  loudly  laughed  in  savage  joy  to  show  the 

world  my  scorn, 
But  pressed  my  heart  with  my  bleeding  hand 

tc  hide  the  gash  of  a  thorn. 


100 


A    \VO.MAN  S    CONSTANCY. 


A  WOMAN'S  CONSTANCY. 


A  barren  road  lies  parching1  in  the  sun  : 
Its  drear  monotony  and  tiresome  length 
Drag  on,  and  threaten  never  to  have  done. 


I  toil  along  the  rough,  uneven  way 

With   heart   depressed,   with   face  tear-stained   and 

worn, 
And  dread  the  light  of  each  succeeding  day. 


One  morn,  when  all  but  sunk  beneath  my  load, 
My  untaught  lips  essayed  a  prayer,  and  lo. 
The  light  of  Calvary  shone  o'er  the  road. 

Xo  hope  but  one,  the  cross.    A  dream  I  nursed- 
But  that  is  dead.    O  God,  desert  me  now, 
Then  chaos  is,  and  I'm  indeed  accursed. 


101 


A   WOMAN  S   CONSTANCY. 


My  dream,  a  weakling's  dream,  no  more  shall  fret 
My  yearning  heart.    Within  the  mighty  calm 
Of  yonder  sacred  cross,  I  will  forget. 

Come,  subtle  essence  of  a  power  divine, 

Cloak  all  my  senses  in  thy  mystery, 

And  shield  me  from  all  mastery  but  thine. 


Mankind  is  weak,  O  God,  the  steady  light 

Of  Thy  great  presence  awes;   so  keep  me  firm 

Lest  I  drift  back  to  sin,  and  to  the  night. 

My  erring  heart  still  pleads  and  mourns  its  loss 

In  silent  anguish.    Is  there  no  relief 

For  those  who  kneel  and  cry  beneath  the  cross  ? 

Just  God,  forgive !    In  vain  I've  tried  to  slay 
This  love  within  my  breast.    Take  Thou  all  else 
But  give  me  back  my  dream  of  yesterday. 


Two  faces  silhouetted  in  the  dawn ; 

The  woman  sits  and  dreams  in  sweet  content ; 

Her  prayer  is  answered,  but  the  cross  is  gone. 


102 


THE  WATER  SPRITE. 


THE   WATER-SPRITE. 


All  day  she  lies  in  a  lily's  cup, 

But  late  at  night  when  the  moon  comes  up, 

Away,  away  o'er  the  dimpling  lake 

To  a  place  she  knows  in  the  flow'ring  brake 

Where  perfumes  lift  from  a  tangled  wild 

To  thrill  the  soul  of  the  air-born  child, 

To  overcome  with  a  rare  delight 

The   ravished   sense   of  the   water-sprite. 

The  spot  is  ringed  with  a  shaded  red 
Of  flow'r-cups,  blossoming  overhead; 
Here  waves  beat  soft  on  a  sanded  beach 
With  lisping  murmur,  like  childhood's  speech; 
On  grasses  burnt  to  a  sable  brown 
She  rests  as  light  as  a  thistle-down, 
And  moonbeams  lost  in  the  pulseless  night 
Are  gathered  close  by  the  water-sprite. 


103 


THE  WATER  SPRITE. 


The  warm  air  steals  from  the  spice-groved  South 
To  press  its  kiss  on  her  willing  mouth, 
And  where  but  promises  late  arose 
She  now  the  joy  of  fulfillment  knows ; 
With  arms  flung  wide  to  the  perfume  warm, 
With  wings  sunk  limp  to  her  melting  form 
She  yields  herself  to  the  sweets  of  night, 
Those  languorous  joys  of  the  water-sprite. 


104 


IX    MEDITATION. 


IN    MEDITATION. 

Though  all  else  fade  yet  may  I  always  keep 

The  memorv  of  yesterday ;  that  time 

When    words   were    said   that    made    the    pulses 

leap, 

When  good  was  killed  and  evil  set  a-chime. 
And  every  impulse  that  was  virtue-fed 
Lay   prone.      Twas   then   I   hid   the   wound    from 

which   hope  bled, 
And  made  no  outward  sign  when  it  was  dead. 

But  I've  remembered.     'Twixt  my  God  and  me 

There  lives  a  prayer,  a  fervid,  earnest  prayer. 

That  reaches  down  through  all  infinity 

And  rests  where  lesser  pleas  would  fear  to  dare. 

When  He  shall  give  His  ultimate  decree, 

What  will  we  do.  my  soul,  when  He  shall  say  to 

me. 
"This  dav  I  give  to  thee  thine  enemy." 


105 


SATIETY. 


SATIETY. 

A  man  and  a  woman  in  sad  discontent, 

Their  hearts  dull  and  heavy,  to  Cupid's  shrine 

went, 

And  knelt  at  the  altar  old,  faded  and  worn, 
To  pour  out  the  griefs  and  the  wrongs  they  had 

borne. 

Each  went  there  alone,  in  contrition  and  dread, 
Afraid  lest  the  other  should  see  love  was  dead, 
And  shrunk  from  the  scene  the  denouement 

would  make, 

And  tried  to  evade  it  for  each  other's  sake; 
They  only  acknowledged  in  secret,  and  shame, 
The  truth  of  the  tale  of  the  moth  and  the  flame. 

"I'm  tired,"  said  the  man,  "  'tis  the  old,  selfsame 

play, 
The  same  entre  act  every  night,  every  day, 


106 


SATIETY. 


The  same  ceaseless  babble,  cheap  tinsel  and  gauze, 
The    same    angry    words    from    the    same    jealous 

cause, 

The  same  curtain-raiser,  the  same  curtain  call — 
I'd  give  twenty  years  to  be  out  of  it  all." 

"I'm  tired,"  said  the  woman,  "I  kneel  to  confess 
I've  wavered  and  struggled  in  sore  heart  distress, 
Brought  duty  to  bear  on  my  faltering  mind, 
But  only  ephemeral  good  could  I  find, 
And  love  lies  as  cold  and  as  dead  as  a  stone — 
I  cover  the  corpse  with  the  hopes  I  have  known." 

"I'm  tired  of  it  all,"  said  the  man  with  a  frown. 
The  bar  to  the  holy  of  holies  threw  down, 
And  stood  there  aghast  in  the  dim,  sacred  place 
As  he  saw  in  the  dusk,  silhouetted,  a  face. 
"You    here!     For    what    purpose?"    he    faltering 

cried, 

"I'm   sacking  the   Temple   of   Love,"   she   replied, 
"I've  torn  down  the  idol,  depleted  the  shrine, 
Despoiled,  desecrated  this  temple  of  mine ; 
The  image  I  thought  was  pure  gold  in  the  past, 
I  find  is  but  poor  imitation  at  last." 


107 


SATIETY. 


They  parted,  and  traversed  their  different  ways 
And  thought  all  forgotten  in  happier  days, 
But  sometimes  unbidden,  heart-sick,  on  the  rack. 
The  thoughts  of  the  man  and  the  woman  go  back. 
And  tears  and  regrets  and  fond  memories  crowd 
Round   a   small,   broken   image   with   hope   for   its 
shroud. 


1Q8 


A  YESTERDAY. 


A    YESTERDAY. 

There's   a  land   I   know. 

Its   beauties   lie 

'Xeath  a  tropic  sky. 
There  the  cacti  gro\v  : 
There  the  red-lipped,  sun-kissed  cacti  grow 

And  glow,  and  glow. 

There's  a   face  I  know : 

Two    red    lips    set 

Round  a  cigarette : 
There's   a   promise   low. 
There   are   raven   lashes   drooping   low 

O'er  eyes  that  glow. 

There's  a  spot  I  know  ; 

A  face  lies  white 

In  the  moon's  cold  light. 
And  the  cacti  grow — 
And  the  red-lipped  cacti  blood-red  grow. 

And  glint  and  glow. 


109 


BE  KIND. 


BE    KIND. 

If  you  are  kind 

Then  there  will  be  no  need  of  separate  ways, 
No  painful  gathering  where  tares  upraise 
Through  tears  that  blind. 

Thoughts  unconfessed 

Although  from  venom  sprung,  may  harmless  fall, 

But  all  their  potent  power  is  past  recall 

When  once  expressed. 

And  love  lies  dead 

Sometimes  before  the  heart  is  yet  aware 
That  mortal  wound  has  been  inflicted  there 
By  hard   things   said. 

The  pulses  start, 

And  dread  alarm  through  soft  emotion  creeps, 
As  hopeless  sorrow  o'er  contentment  sweeps 
To  rouse  the  heart  ; 


110 


BE   KIND. 


And  when  it  wakes, 

It  turns,  like  one  that  dreams,  from  what  annoys 
And  beats  awhile  to  past,  remembered  joys — 
Then  slowly  breaks. 

Be  kind,  be  sweet, 

And  let  our  love  from  such  deep  source  be  drawn 
That  each  shall  know  the  other  in  that  dawn 
Where  next  we  meet. 


lit 


THE    LOVERS     TRYST. 


THE  LOVERS'  TRYST. 

A  swift  ebb  tide,  on  the  eastern  side, 

Sweeps  in  at  the  Point  Del  .,iar. 
For  cycles  old  have  the  breakers  hissed 
And  swept  their  spray  in  a  circling  mist 
O'er  a  crag  that's  christened  'The  Lovers'  Tryst. 

A  wild,  bold  run  that  the  sea-folk  shun, 

Crowned  high  by  decaying  walls. 
That,   years   ago,  were  a  castle  old, 
Where  dwelt  a  maid  with  a  heart  of  gold. 
Who  lived,  and  died,  for  a  brigand  bold. 


The  good  ship   Sue,   with  her  viking  crew, 

Set  sail  at  the  break  of  day ; 
All  night  she'd  drowsed  to  a  sweet  refrain 
Of  music,   sung  by   the   mighty   main, 
Whose  pulses  throbbed  at  her  anchor-chain. 


112 


THE    LOVERS     TRYST. 


Her   listless  crew   slept  the   whole   night   through. 

And  never  a  man  that  stirred. 
That  is,  save  one,  and  he  swam  to  land 
To  kiss  a  beautiful  maiden's  hand, 
And  nurse  a  love  that  was  contraband. 


And  now  he  stood  in  his  plaid  and  hood. 
And  thought  of  the  night  gone  by : 
He  thought  of  love,  and  a  maiden's  bed. 
And  a  tender  look  o'er  his  features  spread 
That  made  a  saint's  of  a  pirate's  head. 


And  when  his  ship,  with  a  flirt  and  dip. 

Swept  close  to  the  castle  wall. 
He  bared  his  head  as  he  hove  in  sight. 
And  dipped  his  flag,  in  the  morning  light. 
In  sweet  salute  to  a  form  in  white. 


"Sing  ho,  sing  ho,  my  aggressive  crew, 
"We'll  toast  the  lass,  and  the  good  ship  Sue. 
"Both  good  and  steady,  and  firm  and  true." 
Right  well  it  be  if  they  prove  so.  too. 


THE    LOVERS'    TRYST. 


A  sentinel's  face,  from  its  hiding  place, 

Saw  Sue  dip  the  brigand  flag, 
Then  disappeared;  in  a  moment  more 
A  bugle  sounded  from  off  the  shore 
That  made  the  echoes  with  challenge  roar. 


A  call  to  arms,  while  the  sharp  alarms 

Ring  quick  'long  the  castle  walls, 
A  shot  flies  swift,  o'er  the  waters  blue, 
That's  answered,  quick,  by  the  Viking  crew 
With  an  old  Long  Tom  and  a  thirty-two. 


Ha,  see!  A  bark  leaves  the  fortress,  dark, 

And  speeds  for  the  open  sea ; 
She  cuts  the  foam  as  she  plows  along 
In  hot  pursuit  of  the  pirate  throng, 
Who  flout  her  sail  with  a  ribald  song. 


"Sing  ho,  sing  ho,  all  my  viking  crew, 
"And  sing  again  when  your  song  is  through, 
"And  make  the  jest  that  best  pleases  you." 
'Twill  be  the  same  in  an  hour  or  two. 


114 


THE  LOVERS     TRYST. 


The  pirate  crew  would  have  sworn  that  Sue 

Could  distance  the  Falcon  bark, 
But  big  and  red  in  the  morning  light 
The  Falcon's  beacon  forged  in  sight. 
And  the  viking  crew  prepared  for  fight. 


Sing  ho,  sing  ho,  let  your  song  ring  true, 
And  pipe  a  note  for  the  Falcon,  too, 
The  lassie's  father  commands  the  crew 
That  rides  the  waves  in  pursuit  of  you. 


The  light  of  day  saw  a  bloody  fray, 
The  deck  of  the  Sue  shone  red, 
Her  monkey-gaff  was  a  gallows-tree 
That  swayed  and  bent  'neath  the  corpses,  three, 
Of  pirates,  dead  as  they'll  ever  be. 


The  captain  stood,  in  his  plaid  and  hood, 

And  wielded  his  trusty  blade ; 
The  ring  of  dead  he  had  piled  knee-high 
At  length  attracted  the  searching  eye 
Of  a  man  in  lace  who  was  tacking  by. 


M-3 


THE    LOVERS     TRYST. 


"You  imp  of  fire/'  quoth  the  irate  sire. 

"Come  measure  your  sword  with  me : 
"Forsooth,  I  vow  by  the  Sphinx's  head, 
"That  ere  the  sun  grows  a  deeper  red. 
"You'll  mark  your  length  on  a  coral  bed." 

Then  quoth  the  chief:  "By  Gilmonv's  Reef, 

"It  pains  me  to  cut  your  throat ; 
"But  I've  a  tryst  with  your  daughter,  fair, 
"Which  you  would  spoil,  if  you  lived,  I  swear. 
"So  pray  to  heaven  ere  you  journey  there." 

On  guard !  On  guard  !  Now,  their  breath  comes  hard, 

Now,  chances  would  seem  a  draw  : 
The  pirate  falls,  he  is  up  once  more, 
He  stumbles — slips  on  the  bloody  floor — 
The  other's  blade  spits  his  heart's  red  core. 

Then  o'er  the  rail,  with  a  lusty  hail. 

They  toppled  the  brigand  bold ; 
A  valiant  man,  and  a  brave,  I  vow. 
The  father  cried :  "Will  you  tell  me  how 
"You'll  keep  your  tryst  with  my  daughter  now  ?" 


110 


THE    LOVERS     TRYST. 


The  answering  word  by  the  wind  was  heard. 

But  not  by  the  Falcon  crew  ; 
They  sung  their  songs  of  the  bloody  fray, 
They  sailed  back  home  to  the  fortress  gray. 
And  reached  it  just  at  the  close  of  day. 

Xo  single  star  o'er  the  Point  Del  Mar 

Hung  high  in  the  heavens  dark ; 
The  beach  lay  black,  but  a  grewsome  sight 
Was  shown  next  day  by  the  morn's  rich  light- 
A  maiden  robed  in  a  dress  of  white. 

Sing  ho,  sing  ho,  for  the  good  ship  Sue. 
Sing  ho,  sing  ho,  for  her  captain,  too ; 
He's  sung  his  song,  and  his  song  is  through. 
A  long  farewell  to  the  viking  crew. 

A  heart  of  gold,  and  a  brigand  bold : 
Her  arms  press  his  bloody  form. 
Her  cold,  dead  eyes  meet  his  glassy  stare. 
Her  white  lips  rest  on  his  sea-swept  hair. 
Thus  ends  the  tale  of  this  luckless  pair. 


117 


THE  PENALTY. 


THE  PENALTY. 

The  song  was  finished  when  the  maestro  said, 

"Dream  not  of  fame  nor  yet  of  great  success ;" 

Then  kindly  added,  when  she  drooped  her  head, 

As  though  reluctant  to  implant  unrest 

Within  the  calm  Arcadia  of  her  breast, 

"Great  gifts  like  yours  from  heaven  alone  are  sent." 

He  saw  her  hopeful  look  and  sadly  smiled ; 

"Some  day  you'll  know  that  fame  is  only  meant 

"To  touch  the  lives  that  harbor  discontent; 

"Success  is  found  through  grief  and  weariness. 

"Be  loath  to  leave  the  path  where  pleasure  lies ; 

"Joy  lives  an  hour,  but  sorrow  never  dies; 

"It  is  the  soul  of  man's  dead  happiness. 

"Ambition  is  not  born  of  ecstasy ; 

"When  you  have  suffered,  then,  come  back  to  me." 


118 


THE    MEDICI'S    NEW    YEAR. 


THE    MEDICI'S    NEW    YEAR. 


Ring    on,    great    jangling    bells,    your    discord's 

sweet ; 

With  brazen  clanging  make  the  air  replete; 
I  love  the  music  of  your  metal  throats, 
I    feel   the   triumph   throbbing   in   your   notes ; 
My  heart,  a  pendulum,  keeps  rhythmic  beat 
To  every  insolence  your  tongues  repeat. 
You  speak  to  men  but  of  the  New  Year's  birth ; 
Of  God's  good  will ;  of  peace  upon  the  earth ; 
You  speak  to  me  a  short,  exultant  word — 
My  sated  hatred  drowses  as  'tis  heard — 
You  speak  of  plundered  enemies  to  me, 
Of  downfall,  and  of  my  supremacy. 

As  silence  that  too  long  has  passive  hung 
Turns  venom  in  the  power  upon  your  tongue, 
So  has  the  heart  that  echoes  to  your  call, 
From  too  long  waiting,  turned  its  blood  to  gall. 


119 


LOVE  S  LAMENT. 


Your  threatening  sound,  portentous,  blatant,  clear, 
Proclaims  a  frenzied  anger  to  my  ear ; 
I  laugh — a  silent  laugh.     Your  voice  to  me 
Speaks  soothingly  of  strength,  and  victory. 
I  dream,  in  sweet  content,  above  the  woe 
Of  one  long  hated — -a  dismantled  foe; 
And  I  repeat  when  your  last  note  is  done, 
I   have   prevailed    'gainst   barriers — and   won ! 


LOVE'S  LAMENT. 

Cupid  drooped  his  pinions  fair ; 

"Why  thus  change  my  name  ?"  he  queried. 

Answered  maiden,  debonair. 

In  accents  wearied : 

"Love,  put  jealousy  away, 

"Though  I  change  your  name,  don't  sorrow 

"Love  is  love — though  Jack  to-day 

"And  Toe  to-morrow." 


120 


ON  LAUREL  HILL. 


ON  LAUREL  HILL. 


How  heedless  they  on  Laurel  Hill ! 

The  lark  that  has  lain  dumb 
With  weight  of  night  within  his  throat, 
With  darkness  silencing  each  note, 
Near  bursts  his  heart  with  melody 

Xow  day  is  come  ; 

But  matin  song  finds  no  responsive  thrill 
In  these,  the  heedless  ones,  on  Laurel  Hill. 


On  Laurel  Hill  they  love  the  night 

With  pale  stars  overhead. 
For  when  the  earth  lies  dark  and  cold 
White  tendrils  seem  to  ease  their  hold 
And  give  each  sleeper  freer  space 

Within   his   bed. 

What  care  these  silent  ones  for  dawning  light 
That  ever  fails  to  reach  them  in  their  night  ? 


121 


MAN'S  LOVE. 


Here's  name  and  fame  with  moss  o'ergrown 

And  white  stone  sinking  lower; 
Each  day  the  city  grows  apace, 
Each  day  some  trav'ler  seeks  the  place 
And  to  himself  a  homestead  takes 

To  roam  no  more. 

On  Laurel  Hill  each,  housed  beneath  his  stone 
Like  surly  hermit,  guards  his  hearth,  alone. 


MAN'S    LOVE. 

You  say  you  love  me  and  affirm  no  hour 

Of  dark  adversity  could  blight  the  flower 

Of  this,  your  fervent  passion;  that  no  deed 

Committed  or  in   embryo  would  need 

Your   absolution;   'twould   forgiven   be 

Before   'twas   spoken ;  that  your  constancy 

Could  never  equal  find.     If  you  but  knew 

The  errors  of  a  past  I  hide  from  you — 

'Tis    as    I    thought!      You,    shrinking,    turn    from 

me; 
'Tis  not  myself  you  love,  but  purity. 


THE    BRIDGE. 


THE    BRIDGE. 


Here  passes  the  world  when  the  day  is  done; 
The  toiler,  released  by  the  coming  night, 
The  child  of  misfortune,  the  rich  man's  son, 
And  shapes  that  are  born  with  the  waning  light. 
I  loiter  again  where  the  discords  meet 
And  list  to  the  hurry  of  eager  feet 
Which  startles,  as  louder  the  noises  grow, 
The  echoes  that  hide  in  the  dusk  below. 


No  prejudice  here;  it  receives  the  great 
And  misses  them  not  when  at  last  they  pass, 
Departing  like  those  of  a  lesser  state, 
As  transient  as  breath  on  a  looking-glass ; 
It  welcomes  the  king  with  his  pageant,  proud, 
Or  sanctions  revolt  of  the  maddened  crowd 
While  onward  the  river  in  restless  throb 
Laps  in  through  its  arches  with  feeble  sob. 


123 


MAN  S    HERITAGE. 


Strange  shadows   flit  here  when  the     throng    has 

passed, 
Queer    wraiths    of    the    quay    from    the    darkness 

sprung. 

Things  lost  on  the  course  where  their  life  is  cast 
That  vanish  when  dawn  is  with  crimson  hung ; 
These  linger,  with  me,  while  desire  outstrips 
The  word  that  hangs  pending  on  phantom  lips, 
And  turn,  as  with  hope,  as  the  silence  brings 
The  theme  of  the  song  that  the  river  sings. 


MAN'S  HERITAGE. 

This  thing  called  Life !  What  care  we  take  to  shield 
Its  little  hour.    We  fume  and  strut  about 
Forever  watchful  lest  the  light  go  out 
And  save  us  from  some  torture  that  it  yield. 

Proud  heritage !     As  through  an  open  door 
Man  enters,  strides  in  great  inconsequence 
And  then,  protesting,  forcibly  goes  hence, 
An  atom,  lost,  upon  an  unnamed  shore. 


124 


THE  VOICE  OF  SILENCE. 


THE  VOICE  OF  SILENCE. 


Not  thing's  we  say  but  those  we  leave  unsaid 

Discover  beauty. 

And  not  by  voiced  reproof  are  slack  hearts  led 
But  by  some  vague,  unspoken  word,  each  hears. 

That  pleads  for  duty. 


"MS  not  the  sounds  but  silences  of  life 

To  which  we  harken  ; 

The  wave-beats  in  the  sea  of  daily  strife 
Raise  clouds  of  sound,  with  silences  between 

That  light  or  darken. 


Not  in  effulgence  can  those  joys  be  found 

That  flood  the  senses. 

They  come  but  when  the  day  kills  clangorous  sound 
And  night,  all  silent,  calms  the  fevered  blood 

And  rest  dispenses. 


125 


THE  VOICE  OF  SILENCE. 


We  lose  the  theme  where  eloquence  has  burned 

Nor  long  regret  it — 

It  was  a  sound ;  but  who  of  man  has  turned 
To  feel  the  thrill  of  silent,  breathing  art 

And  can  forget  it? 

When   wind-swept  storms   leave   on   the   shivering 
palm 

Great  tears  that  glisten, 
And  rage-rent  forces  speak  within  the  calm, 
What  wondrous  words  are  whispered  in  the  ears 

Of  those  who  listen. 

As  after  passion  comes  serene  repose, 

Calm   after  flurry, 

So,   after  life  comes  silence.     Ah,   who  knows 
How  we  shall  read  the  music  of  the  void 

To'ard  which  we  hurry? 


136 


SATAN  S  TOAST. 


SATAN'S    TOAST. 

Here's  to  sins  that  ye  do  and  ye  wish  to  do ; 

Here's  to  promises  never  kept; 
Here's  to  lips  that  deny  with  the  morning  light 
Tender    words    that    they    whispered    at    dead    of 
night ; 

Here's  to  hearts  that  have  died  unwept. 

Here's  to  pages  ye  seal  when  the  deeds  be  done ; 

Here's  to  hopes  that  ye  crush  and  kill ; 
Here's  to  treacheries  hidden  in  love's  caress ; 
Here's  to  times  that  ye're  silent  lest  ye  confess ; 

Here's  to  mem'ries  that  shame,  and  thrill. 

Here's  to  lips  that  breathe  love  when  the  heart  is 
dead; 

Here's  to  all  that  I  claim  as  mine ; 
Here's  to  ye  who  repent  as  the  daylight  starts 
And  succumb  to  your  passions  when  light  departs ; 

Here's  to  woman,  and  love,  and  wine. 


137 


THE   BENEDICTION. 


THE  BENEDICTION. 

Into  the  night  of  the  world  came  the  word 

"Let  there  be  light;" 

Trembled  each  dormant  thing  when  it  had  heard. 
Burst  then  from  countless  throats 
Long-hushed,  imprisoned  notes. 

Loosed  from  the  night ; 
Gems  that  had  lusterless  lain  in  the  gloom 
Radiant  shone  as  shines  faith  through  the  tomb 
Blessing  the  sight ; 
Glory  had  come 

Breathing  its  soul   into  things  that  were  dumb. 
When  will  the  word  enter  the  dark  of -my  empty  lift 
Easing  my  heart  of  its  useless  strife, 
Sweeping  my  soul  of  its  bitter  night, 
When  will  be  heard,  "Let  there  be  light?" 


128 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  TIVOLI. 


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THE  PASSING  OF  THE  TIVOLI. 


When  man,  grown  rebellious,  relinquished  the  right 
To  all  things  reflecting  God's  spiritual  light. 
An  angel,  in  pity,  considered  the  cost. 
And  music  was  left  him  when  Eden  was  lost. 

And  so,  little  Tivoli,  this  is  goodbye : 
I  make  it,  old  friend,  'twixt  a  laugh  and  a  cry. 
I  know  by  the  sigh  that  will  not  be  repressed 
Another  will  never  hold  sway  in  my  breast 
As  you  have ;  no  structure  of  new-fangled  grace 
Can  blot  from  my  heart  this  Bohemian  place. 
I  love  your  old  back-breaking,  hard  seated  chairs. 
Your  quaint,  little,  dark,  nestling  boxes  up-stairs 
\Yhere  many  a  man,  under  stress  of  the  play, 
Has  said  foolish  things  he  regretted  next  day. 
I  love  your  old  stage  with  its  fanciful  hue 
Of  settings,  no  stage  but  this  queer  one  ere  knew, 
And  though  your  drop-curtain  is  marvelous,  quite, 


120 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  TIVOLI. 


I  haven't  the  heart  of  a  critic  to-night, 
For  all  the  defects  you  so  frankly  reveal 
Are  lost  in  the  honest  regret  that  I  feel. 

The  Catskills?  Why,  yes,  I  have  seen  them  before, 
And  old  Rip  Van  Winkle  tired,  weary,  and  sore ; 
Hush !  Hartman  is  speaking  beneath  the  disguise 
In  a  way  that  brings  unbidden  tears  to  our  eyes. 
A  weird  and  incongruous,  hurrying  throng, 
Some  singing,  some  tragic,  sweeps  blindly  along; 
Old  forms  and  old  faces  I  view  from  my  stall 
Long  since  praised  or  blamed  by  the  Critic  of  All. 
I  hear  distant  music  that  stirs  in  my  breast 
A  whirlwind  of  passions,  then  soothes  them  to  rest ; 
For  music  can  cleanse,  like  a  chastening  rod, 
And  send  the  starved  soul,  pleading,  back  to  its  God. 
The  melody  wakes  a  long  slumbering  sense 
That  dies,  ere  'tis  born,  from  its  own  impotence. 

What's  this  ?    Shadow-faces  grow  dim,  and  the  show 
Is  not  what  it  was  half  a  minute  ago. 
The  curtain  goes  down,  and  the  Tivoli's  page 
'Twixt  the  farce  of  the  world  and  the  farce  of  the 
stage 


130 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  TIVOLI. 


Is  finished ;  comes  silence  where  laughter  has  dwelt. 

Impatience  I  may  have  at  other  times  felt 

Is  absent  to-night.    Old  Bohemian  place, 

I  make  my  adieux  with  a  sorrowful  face. 

Let's  walk  down  your  aisle  for  the  last  time,  and 

try 
To  whisper  goodnight,  and  forget  'tis  goodbye. 


131 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  BURDEN. 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  BURDEN. 

Should  some  bright  ray  of  kindly  fortune  shine 
To  guide  me  from  this  long-familiar  way 
And  fill  my  cup  of  gall  with  sweetest  wine — 
Should  I  be  shown  the  victor's  shining  crown, 
Yet  sadly  would  I  turn  me  from  today 
And  with  reluctance  lay  the  burden  down. 

Tis  not  possession  but  pursuit  that  gives 
The  charm  to  conquest,  and  in  distance  lies 
The  beck'ning  hope  of  every  soul  that  lives. 
Who  turns  his  face  to'ard  light  that  gleams  afar 
Feels  naught  of  storms  that  fret  the  nearer  skies 
And  knows  no  darkness  seeing  but  the  star. 

Heights  gained  but  furnish  leisure  to  look  back 
On  mist-enshrouded  wrecks  that  strew  the  night. 
O,  let  me  strive  along  the  tortuous  track, 
The  task  before  me  ever  to  be  done; 
O,  let  me  ever  know  some  luring  light 
And  have  some  goal  forever  to  be  won. 


132 


A   DIGS. 


"A    DIOS." 

"A    Dios."      'Twas    lightly    spoken. 
Each  heart  left  the  other  broken. 
Without  guessing  that   'twas   so; 
Checking  tender  words  that  started. 
They,  like  strangers,  coldly  parted. 
"A  Dios."   Each   turned   to   go. 

"A  Dios."     When  love  came  trembling 
Over    thirsting    lips    dissembling, 
Then  the  words  they  would  have  said. 
Quick  were  killed  in  jest  and  laughter; 
But  the  pain  in  each  heart  after, 
Proved  Love  wounded,  but  not  dead. 

"A  Dios."     Is  this  the  ending, 
This  the  sun  of  love  descending 
Or  the  dawn  that  faintly  glows? 
Maybe   some  bright  morning,   after 
Love  has  conquered  jest  and  laughter. 
They  will  meet  again.     Who  knows? 


133 


THE  SUICIDE. 


THE   SUICIDE. 

What  harm  should  we  snuff  out  this  feeble  light 
And  leave  the  broken  thing  in  which  it  burns 
Rayless  and  shadowless  within  the  night? 
What  harm  if  finally  is  quenched  the  spark 
And  that  which  men  call  spirit  never  turns 
In  resurrection  from  eternal  dark? 

The  primitive  close-threatens  with  its  rote. 
Wherefore  we  sit  enwrapped  within  our  creed 
Lest  instinct  wake  to  reason's  falt'ring  note. 
Could  man  go  back  through  artificial  years 
To  ponder  symbols  held  within  the  seed 
Where  then  the  hope  now  rainbowed  through  his 
tears  ? 

What  better  light  can  show  on  troubled  way 

Of  tired,  far- journeying  pilgrim,  than  the  thought 

That  this  were  all ;  that  there  will  dawn  no  day 


134 


THE  SUICIDE. 


When  he  shall  rise  to  lessons  strange  and  new, 
When  tangled  problems  shall  again  be  wrought 
And  other  tear-blotched  pages  copied  through. 

Dumb  things  that  come  upon  the  way  of  death 
Are  helped  by  such  crude  art  as  man  may  boast 
And  hastened  from  the  pain  of  fretful  breath; 
But  man  condemns  if  man  thus  leaps  the  goal. 
Through  fear  he  tortures,  where  he  loves  the  most, 
Because  some  night-tale  whispers  of  a  soul. 


135 


THE  PHANTOM. 


THE    PHANTOM. 

In  heaven's  name,  what  shape  art  thou, 
With  threat'ning  glance  and  beetling  brow. 
That  comes  with  bloodshot  eye  to  dart 
A   chill   of   terror   through   my   heart  ? 
Thy  tears  turn,  dripping,  into  blood 
That  stains  thy  front  with  crimson  flood. 
Away !     I  bear  thy  sight  with  pain, 
Nor  dare  to  break  my  peace  again. 
"Not  so,"  it  cries,  "I'll  ever  stay 
"Beside  thee  close,  each  hour,  each  day, 
"And  when  the  grave  shall  yawn  at  last 
"I'll  still  be  near.     I  am  thv  Past." 


136 


AN   EPISODE. 


AN    EPISODE. 

Her  eyes  met  mine ; 

I  saw  a  light,  half  smold'ring,  shine 

Within  their  dusk. 

I  hoped.    Cold  grew  her  glances  then 

And  seemed  to  speak  denial  when 

Her  eyes  met  mine. 

Had  it  but  seemed 

Or  had  I  in  some  fever  dreamed 

Her  eyes  spoke  love? 

Why  tremulous  her  voice  and  low, 

Why  seek  to  hide  her  cheeks'  red  glow. 

Had  it  but  seemed? 

She  turned  aside. 

Tis  well  we're  given  wit  to  hide 

The  truth  within, 

Or  else  she  had  to  me  confessed 

The  love  she  stifled  in  her  breast 

And   turned  aside. 


137 


HOPE. 


HOPE. 


Out  somewhere  from  the  darkness  of  the  East 

Three  travelers  come; 
Content  in  what  they  fail  to  understand 
Each  moves  across  the  heat-veiled  desert  sand 
As  though  he  held  a  chart  within  his  hand ; 
Their  fervor,  by  each  hardship  but  increased, 

Makes  question  dumb. 


These,   strong  in   forceful   trust  of   some   strange 
power 

To  guide  aright, 

Oft  see  a  vision  fill  the  star-lit  wild 
Where  shine  the  features  of  the  Virgin,  mild; 
They  kneel  in  worship  to  the  King,  her  child, 
And  trembling  cry,  ere  comes  the  natal  hour, 

"Behold  the  light!" 


138 


HOPE. 

Thus,  on  each  barren  life  there  shines  some  star 

To  cheer  its  night, 

Some  force  deep  sprung  from  sources  that  will  win 
Hearts  back  to  hope,  although  there  lies  within 
But  rotting  wrecks  of  glories  that  have  been. 
Thus  each  soul  through  the  darkness  finds  afar 

The  guiding  light. 


139 


THE   SIREN. 


THE  SIREN. 

Near   a   spot  where   the   voice   of  the  whispering 

pines 

Calls  low  to  the  drone  of  the  sea, 
Near  the  buoy  that  sways  to  the  turbulent  roll 
Of  the   surf  as   it   sweeps  o'er   the   crag-breasted 

shoal, 

There's  a  cabin,  a  tiny,  wee  bit  of  a  place 
That  drowsily  rests  in  the  cliff's  warm  embrace. 
And  the  world  may  not  trespass  within  the  con 
fines 
Of  its  poppy-flecked  fields  and  its  clustering  vines. 

There  is  life  in  the  breath  of  the  salt-laden  spray 
That  drenches  the  rocks  at  its  feet, 
There  is  peace  in  the  song  of  the  sea,  gay  or  grave, 
And  a  history  lies  in  the  froth  of  each  wave. 
And  we,  of  the  world,  stand  aloof,  loath  to  go, 
Forgetting  awhile  the  unrest  that  we  know, 


140 


THE   SIREN. 


Forgetting  the  power  that  we  bend  to  obey. 
Till  we  turn,  with  regret,  to  the  old  beaten  way. 

Here's  the  infinite  peace  we  have  looked  for  so  long, 

Here  is  life  freed  from  trammeling  care ; 

But  a  voice  from  afar  calls  with  mystical  force 

And  the  yearning  we  nourish  is  sapped  at  its  source ; 

We  harken  no  more  to  the  soul's  plaintive  cry 

But  sink  back  'neath  the  spell  of  the  world's  Lorelei. 

There's  no  rest  for  the  heart  that  has  thrilled  to  the 

song 
Of  the  siren  that  sings  in  the  hum  of  the  throng. 


141 


TO    MY    PIPE. 


TO  MY  PIPE. 

Come  down,  old  fellow !  with  shame-bowed  head 

I  take  you  up  from  your  dusty  bed ; 

I  feel  regret  and  a  just  remorse, 

And  blame  myself  and  my  vapid  course, 

That  I,  the  dolt,  could  have  put  you  by 

For  a  maiden's  wish  and  a  maiden's  sigh. 

Come  down,  old  fellow !  we  meet  again ; 
To-day  is  not  what  the  day  was,  when 
I  thrust  you  back  in  the  shadows,  dim, 
In  deference  to  a  woman's  whim. 
No  wondrous  maid  that  the  world  e'er  knew 
Could  chain  a  man  to  her  heart  like  you. 

Come  down,  old  fellow !  What,  friend !  think  you 

That  any  one,  now,  could  part  us  two? 

What  fervid  kisses  from  scarlet  lips 

Could  thrill  me  thus  to  my  finger  tips? 

Dear,  brown,  old  fellow,  I  bless  the  sprite 

That  gave  me  freedom,  and  you,  to-night. 


142 


THE  ROSE. 


THE  ROSE. 

Light  from  rubies,  caught  and  held 
In  each  petal.    From  its  bosom 
Sweet,  seductive  perfume  welled. 

Careless,  winged  a  butterfly, 
Passes  near  the  siren's  beauty, 
Loiters,   trembles — flutters   by. 

Wheeling  on  uncertain  wing 
Back  he  flies,  now  unresisting — 
Back  to  woo ;  to  love ;  to  cling. 

He,  replete  with  love,  ne'er  guessed, 
Yesterday  the  bee  was  fondled 
Close  within  that  scarlet  breast, 

That  to-morrow  would  be  heard, 
Not  unwillingly,  the  pleading 
Of  impassioned  humming-bird. 

143 


WHAT    KING. 


WHAT  KING? 

What  king  have  we  to-day ;  the  one  whose  blood 

Dark-stained  the  aspen  cross  of  Calvary 

That  man  might  be  regenerate  through  its  flood? 

Or  build  we  temples  underneath  His  stars 

For  worship  of  the  hour's  divinity 

And  bend  the  knee  to  Plutus,  Bel,  and  Mars? 

Each  glade  an  altar  hides,  each  rock  a  shrine, 
Rare  incense  swings  to  Venus,  as  of  old, 
Through  cannon's  mouth  is  Odin  spake  divine. 

Great  Bacchus  still  beneath  his  vine  sits  crowned 
Dispensing  comfort  to  these  followers 
On  whom  all  other  oracles  have  frowned. 

Unstable  as  the  gods  to  whom  they  pray 
Men  kneel,  low-bowed;  each  dawn  comes  question 
ing, 
"What  king  does  man  go  forth  to  crown  to-day?" 


144 


THE  POPPY 


THE    POPPY. 

Once  a  poppy  grew 
(If  the   tale   be   true) 
On  a  hillside  bare; 
And   two  wooers   bold 
For  her  heart  of  gold 
Fought  a  battle  there. 


Now.  the  Sun  and  Dew 
Were  the  good  knights  true 
Of  this  fickle  one; 
And   with   lance   of   light 
Put  the  Dew  to  flight, 
Did   Sir   Knight,  the  Sun. 

Then  the  victor  passed 
With  the  day?  at  last, 
To  his  home  and  rest. 

145 


THE  POPPY. 


And   the   vanquished   lay 

In   the   twilight   gray 

On  the  loved  one's   breast. 

When  a  new  day  dawned, 
Though  her  lovers  fawned, 
She   was   coy  and   shy 
And  she  looked  far  down 
On   the   distant   town 
With   a  longing  eye. 

"  Could  I  feel  and  know 
All  its  life  and  show 
'T would  be  sweet,  in  truth." 
Like  an  answered  prayer 
She   was   carried  there 
By  a  careless  youth. 

Then  the  sun  went  down 
On  the  hill  and  town, 
And   the   poppy   sweet, 
Lay  all  soiled  and  torn, 
All    forgot,    forlorn, 
On  the  crowded  street. 

146 


THE  ?C?PY. 


Then  the  dew  came  down 
On  the  hill  and  town, 
But  the  poppy,  tossed 
In  the  swirl  and  strife 
Of  a  larger  life 
Had  been  crushed  and  lost. 


147 


LOVES    SPAN. 


LOVE'S  SPAN. 

The  fleecy  clouds  in  the  heavens  high 
Beneath  the  light  of  an  opal  sky 

Showed  tints  of  morn; 
The  blush  that  over  the  landscape  lay 
Spoke  tender  hopes  for  a  glorious  day, 

When  love  was  born. 

The  sun's  caress  woke  the  slumb'ring  glade 
And  turned  the  light  to  a  deeper  shade 

On  brook  and  mound, 
No  sign  betrayed  in  the  glowing  west 
The  storm-cloud  trembling  with  dark  unrest, 

When  love  was  crowned. 

The  world  was  hushed  when  the  sun  went  down ; 
It  left  the  sky  'neath  its  threat'ning  frown 

An  angry  red, 

And  hope  went  out  with  the  dying  light 
As  day  gave  place  to  a  starless  night — 

When  love  was  dead. 


148 


BESIDE   THE   BIER. 


BESIDE  THE  BIER. 

Poor,  cold,  dead  face;  poor  lips  that  weakly  part, 
Irresolute,  unchanged.     The  tear-drops  start 
And  shame  the  angry  sorrow  at  my  heart. 

Before  they  came,  before  the  word  was  said, 
Before  the  watchers  hovering  round  your  bed 
Were  yet  aware,  I  knew  that  you  were  dead. 

How  ?  How  do  captives  know  their  chains  are  gone  ? 
How  know  the  wounded  that  the  barb's  withdrawn  ? 
How  does  the  darkness  know  of  coming  dawn? 

You  were  the  millstone  of  uncertain  fate ; 
Down,  inch  by  inch,  I  sunk  beneath  the  weight 
Till  I  was  crushed,  despairing,  desolate. 

I  do  not  blame.     If,  from  eternity. 

You  may  look  back,  I  hope  that  it  will  be 

To  learn  how  much  you  might  have  been  to  me. 


149 


THE  ROSE  OF  MONTEREY. 


THE   ROSE   OF   MONTEREY. 

This  the  story:     In  a  valley 
Steeped  within  perpetual  sunshine, 
In  a  tropic,   sun-kissed  valley 
Dwells  a  dark-eyed   senorita : 
Traces  still  of  regal  beauty 
Lie  upon  her  aged  features. 

Long  ago  the  wand'ring  sunlight 
In  its  course  o'er  dell  and  river, 
Ling'ring  near  the  land  of  roses, 
Saw  a  sad  and  bitter  parting, 
Saw  a  tender  heart  grow  heavy 
With  uncertain  premonition, 
Saw  bright  eyes  unused  to  weeping 
Dimmed  with  tears  they  could  not  master. 
"I   will   soon   return,"   he  whispered, 
"  'Wait  me  here,  I'll  not  forget  you ; 
"Take  this  pure-white  rose  and  plant  it 
"  'Neath  the  shadow  of  your  window, 


150 


THE  ROSE  OF  MONTEREY. 


"Let  it  be  the  sacred  emblem 
"Of  the  love  we  hold  and  cherish ; 
"When  you  see  its  first  fair  blossom, 
"When  you  smell  its  sweet,  faint  perfume 
"I  shall  be  here  close  beside  you, 
"Hold  you  in  my  arms  and  kiss  you, 
"Evermore  we'll  be  together/' 
With  these  words  he  turned  and  left  her, 
Left  her  to  her  hopes  and  longings, 
To  her  dreams  and  sweet  illusions. 

Many  years  the  glowing  sunshine 
Has  been  seen  upon  the  sun  dial ; 
Many  years   the   rose  has  blossomed ; 
Many  years   its   subtle   fragrance 
Has  been  known  to  summer  zephyrs, 
And  the  dark-eyed  senorita 
Tends   it — hoping,   trusting,   waiting. 
But,  'tis  said,  the  waxen  petals 
Pure  and  faultless  in  their  beauty, 
White  at   first,   as  any   moonbeam, 
Now  lie  red  beneath  the  sunshine, 
Faultless  still,  but  red  as  rubies, 
Red  as  blood  that  marks  the  pulse-beat 
In   the   heart  of  one   forsaken. 


151 


IN    LOTUS    LAND. 


IN    LOTUS   LAND. 

Let  me  live  within  my  dreams ; 

The  joys  I  know 

From  shadows  grow ; 

Transient  lights  from  nothing  burning 

Back  to  nothing   swift   returning; 

Life  can  hold  no  happiness  like  that  which  seems. 

Let  me  love  and  then   forget; 

Each  vintage  sip 

With  careless  lip; 

Drain  the  cup  and  then  destroy  it, 

Hold  no  memories  to  cloy  it; 

I  would  have  no  dark  remorse  to  chill  and  fret. 

Let  me  keep  my  altar  fires 

Bright  with  incense  from  elusive,  vague  desires — 

Flames   well   fed; 

Flouting   fate,    cajoling   sorrow. 

Heedless  if  a  sad  to-morrow 

Find  me  dead. 


152 


TO    JESSICA. 


TO  JESSICA. 

True  to  my  soul  as  the  steel  to  the  pole 
You  have  been  to  me  ever. 
Evil  has  thrilled  me 
And  sorrow  has  chilled  me 
Grief  and  regret  for  a  wasted  life  filled  me 
You  have  been  near  me 
To  comfort,  to  cheer  me, 
Bound  firm  and  fast  by  a  tie  none  can  sever. 
Close  to  my  soul. 

\Yhen  we  are  dead  and  the  last  word  is  said 
We  will  still  be  together. 
Fear  that  I'd  lose  you 
Has  made  me  abuse  you, 
Sully  your  life  that  your  God  might  accuse  you 
Sin  has  engrossed  you 
And  Heaven  has  lost  you 
That  I  might  have  you  and  hold  you  forever, 
Living  or  dead. 


153 


WHICH  DOES  NOT  MATTER  TO  YOU. 


WHICH    DOES    NOT    MATTER   TO    YOU. 

A  youth  swore  love  for  a  maiden  fair, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 
He  placed  a  rose  in  her  auburn  hair 
And  laid  his  head  on  her  shoulder  fair 
And  promised  freedom  from  every  care, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you.) 

And  like  the  tale  of  a  minstrel's  rhyme, 

(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 
He  left  his  home  for  a  certain  time 
And  sought  for  wealth  in  a  foreign  clime 
And  found  it — owned  by  a  maid  sublime, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you). 

And  time  went  on  just  as  time  will  do, 

(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 
The  maiden  wept  for  a  day  or  two 
Because  her  lover  had  proved  untrue 


154 


WHICH  DOES  NOT  MATTER  TO  YOU. 


Then  patched  her  heart  with  connubial  glue, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you). 

And  after  that  the  report  was  spread, 

(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 
That  youth  and  maid  put  in  earthy  bed 
The  cold  remains  of  their  spouses  dead 
And  hid  a  smile  with  the  tears  they  shed, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you). 

Above  the  graves  they  had  met  again, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 

They    whispered    things    about    "might    have 
been" 

Which   I   consider  a  cardinal   sin 

Remembering  the  place  they  were  talking  in, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you). 

And  then,  one  day,  it  was  told  to  me, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 

These  twain  were  one;  now  they  both  agree 

That  "Was"  was  nearer   felicity 

Than  "Is,"  and  sigh  for  the  "Used  To  Be," 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you). 


155 


THE  PAST. 


And  thus  it  is  with  the  things  we  crave, 

(Which  maybe  matters  to  you), 
We  fret  and  worry  and  toil  and  slave 
We  reach  and  struggle,  and  terrors  brave, 
Then  scorn  the  object  our  efforts  gave. 
Which  is  verv  much  like  you. 


THE    PAST. 

The  past?     Ah,  question  not,   dear   love, 

Nor   jealous  be; 
The  past  was  but  a  time  when  I 

Awaited  thee. 
Ask  not  to  have  the   present   chilled 

By    retrospect ; 
The  past  was  but  a  rock  submerged 

Where  hopes  were  wrecked. 
The  past  was  but  a  fretful  time 

In  which  I  grew, 
By   sorrow's   scourge,   a   helpful   mate 

And   fit   for   vou. 


156 


THE  VOICE  OF   NATURE. 


THE    VOICE    OF    NATURE. 


From  the  flush  of  strange  beginning  beauty 

on  the  earth  has  lain. 
Glorified    in    flaming    sunset,    fairy-gemmed 

in  crystal  rain. 
Lessons,  rare,  of  radiant  splendor  are  in  wild 

profusion  shown 
While  we    gaze    in  big-eyed  wonder  like  to 

babes  in  dumbness  grown. 


Dormant  standing,  deep-enamored  of  the 
spell,  with  senses  swooned, 

Keenly  strung  to  vibrant  music  only  heard 
of  hearts  attuned, 

Helpless  in  our  deep  emotion,  speechless 
where  we  would  reveal, 

Vain  the  fettered  tongue  endeavors  to  por 
tray  the  thing  we  feel. 


157 


THE  VOICE  OF   NATURE. 


Frail    we    are    in    understanding    when    our 

sleeping  souls  awake, 
Conscious   of   but   futile   effort   through   the 

halting  flights  we  take. 
Masterful  the  changing  story  told  in  yellow 

leaf  and  sear, 
Wondrous  is  the  swelling  anthem  known  to 

him  who  will  but  hear. 

Call  him  sculptor  who  in  marble  clothes  the 
song  his  heart  has  heard, 

Call  him  poet  who  from  Nature  has  pre 
served  one  throbbing  word, 

Each  attempts  to  paint  the  glory  of  the  thing 
as  it  is  shown 

But  he  ever  mars  the  picture  by  crude  touches 
of  his  own. 


158 


TO   TOMBSTONE    II. 


TO  TOMBSTONE  II. 

(THE  PRESS  CLUB'S  CAT.) 

Thy  gaze,  transfixed,  disdains  my  presence,  small, 
And  lingers  on  creations  of  thine  own ; 
The  twitching  of  thy  lip  betrays  the  strange 
And  startling  wonders  of  thy  retrospect. 
Perchance  these  walls  give  place  to  jungle  briars, 
And  curious  gapers  turn  to  hunted  prey  ? 
Perchance  within  thy  reminiscent  brain 
Lurk  dreams  of  summer  nights  when  stealthy  forms 
Cast  undulating  shadows  'neath  the  moon? 
I  think  'tis  so;  despite  thy  stolid  mien, 
A  sudden  light  burns  green  within  thine  eyes, 
Ferocious  hate  leaps  high  as  thought  recalls 
How  mortal  cunning  wrought  thine  impotence. 
By  means  unworthy  living  thing,  save  man, 
They  have  thee  caged,  and  harmless,  by  a  trick. 
They  took  thy  body  captive,  but  thy  pride 
Remains  thine  own,  and  clothes  thy  haughty  form 
In  solemn  garb  of  peerless  majesty. 
I  gaze  at  thee  and  feel  my  littleness, 
And  slink  away,  ashamed  that  man  presumes 
From  his  conceit,  to  call  himself  thy  lord. 


159 


DREAMS. 


DREAMS. 


Lips  there  are  that  crave  the  touch  of  lips 

they  may  not  press. 
That  laugh  above  the  heart's  dead  weight  of 

hopeless  weariness. 
That    sometimes     paler    grow     beneath    the 

starved  soul's  futile  cry 
And  tremble  with  the  fervor  of  desires  that 

will  not  die. 


Hands,  there  are,  press  other  hands  but  love's 
wild  thrill  is  dead, 

Lips  speak  to  lips  but  hearts  no  more  are 
reached  by  what  is  said, 

There  come  fleet  dreams,  like  transient  mist, 
of  joys  that  fate  withholds. 

And  longings  of  such  bitter  pain  that  hope 
lessness  consoles. 


160 


RETROSPECTUS. 


No  rose  so  red  but  fragrance  from  one  redder 

blows  afar. 
No  night  so  fair  but  that  another  shows  a 

brighter  star. 
Old  wines  we  crave  but  old  love  sometimes 

f  aite  the  one  athirst, 
No     virtue     breathes     in     constancy     when 

vagrant  dreams  are  nursed. 


RETROSPECTUS. 

Live  not  in  musty  retrospect,  but  try 
To  find  the  rift  within  the  clouded  sky. 
And  let  the  cold,  dead  past  in  shadow  lie — 

Lot's  wife  looked  back. 

Come,   pour   libations,   bid   the   minstrel   play. 
To-day   shall   question   not   of   yesterday, 
To-morrow   shall   know   nothing   of  to-day. 


WHO  PAYS? 


WHO  PAYS? 


Who  is  it  that  pays 

For  the  words  that  are  uttered  in  careless  jest, 

For  the  vows  that  are  soon  forgotten, 

For  happiness  stirring  the  vagrant  breast, 

For  the  slight  of  the  lips  that  were  once  caressed, 

For  the  unfulfilled  hopes  and  the  sad  delays? 

Some  one  pays ! 

Who  is  it  that  pays 

For  the  faith  that  is  held  at  the  joyous  start 

Of  a  love  that  is  quickly  ended? 

Who  dreams  that  the  debt  of  a  truant  heart 

Will  not  have  to  be  met,  in  its  smallest  part, 

Will  but  find  that  whenever  the  piper  plays 

Some  one  pays. 

Who  is  it  that  pays 

For  the  glitter  and  sparkle  of  Vanity  Fair, 


WHO  PAYS? 


For  the  pomp  and  the  vulgar  showing? 

One  half  of  the  world  must  their  muscles  bare 

That  a  few  of  the  favored  may  feel  no  care — 

For  their  languorous  nights  and  their  useless  days, 

Some  one  pays. 

Who  is  it  that  pays 

When  the  'frighted  hills  echo  a  battle  cry 

And  strange  dew  on  the  grass  is  shining? 

A  trumpet  of  death  is  a  monarch's  sigh, 

But  new  subjects  are  born  while  the  old  ones  die. 

Be  it  he  who  is  slain  or  the  one  who  slays 

Some  one  pays. 


163 


RECOMPENSE. 


RECOMPENSE. 

Before  me  dead  you  lie;  your  still,  white  face, 

Impassive  neath  my  glance, 
Lies  strangely  patient  in  its  resting  place, 

Nor  marks  the  night's  advance. 

Alone,  we  two ;  no  ling'ring  pulse-throbs  start 

Or  quiver  at  my  touch. 
I  could  not  hold  such  hate  within  my  heart 

Had  I  not  loved  so  much. 

I'd  gladly  die  could  1  but  break  your  rest 

And  bring  you  back  to  men. 
That  I  might  plunge  this  dagger  in  your  breast 

And  \vatch  you  die  again. 


164 


A  PARADOX. 


A    PARADOX. 

Had  you  listened  when  I  pleaded. 
Had  you  paused  or  hesitated 
Or  one  wish  of  mine  conceded, 
Had  a  wave  of  weakness  crossed  you- 
Had  you  yielded — I  had  lost  you. 

Yours  was  not  an  easy  trial : 
Evermore  I'll  hold  you  dearer 
For  your  words  of  proud  denial ; 
Had  your  duty  less  engrossed  you, 
You  were  mine  and  I  had  lost  you. 

In  the  dead  and  sodden  embers 
Where  lie  passions  long  forgotten. 
Such  a  love  a  man  remembers. 
'Mid  the  ruins  lying  scattered 
Stands  one  idol  still  unshattered. 


A   SPANISH   SERENADE. 


A  SPANISH  SERENADE. 

Come  to  thy  casement,  love,  let  me  behold  thee ; 
Night  will  be  sweeter,  far,  if  thou  but  linger  near. 
Soft  sings  the  nightingale,  sings  near  thy  window, 
Telling  his  mate  of  love,  passionate,  sincere. 
Queen  of  my  life,  let  me  repeat  his  story, 
Close  not  thy  heart,  O,  do  not  turn  away, 
Bid  me  but  hope,  'twill  fill  the  night  with  glory; 
Be  thou  my  queen,  let  me,  thy  slave,  obey. 

Love  is  an  ember  that  we  should  keep  glowing ; 
Do  not  destroy  the  spark  from  which  the  flame  is 

fed, 

For  naught  shall  give  it  life  once  it  has  perished, 
E'en  lips  like  thine  cannot  revive  it  when  'tis  dead. 
Then  fill  the  time  with  joys  for  which  I'm  sighing; 
Close  in  thine  arms  my  exile  I'd  forget, 
Give  me  thy  lips,  no  sweets  they  hold  denying, 
Lest  in  some  sad  to-morrow  we  regret. 


166 


LOVES  ENEMY. 


There's  not  a  flower  but  knows  the  love  I  cherish, 
There's  not  a  breeze  but  whispers,  dear,  of  thee, 
Come,  pluck  the  rose  of  life,  now,  ere  it  perish ; 
Share  thou  its  rich  perfume,  this  night,  with  me. 


LOVE'S    ENEMY. 

"Invulner'ble  my  armor  is," 
Dan  Cupid  proudly  said; 
Doubt  heard,  quick  loosed  a  poisoned  dart 
And  little  Love  fell  dead. 


187 


GIVE!  GIVE! 


"GIVE!  GIVE!" 


The  cry  of  need,  and  the  cry  of  greed, 

Is  the  cry  that  is  heard  afar, 

Is  the  cry  that  has  run  since  the  world  was  begun 

From  the  ether-rimmed  earth  to  the  governing  sun 

And  has  trembled  from  star  to  star ; 

The  unequal  strife  in  the  struggle  for  life 

Has  embittered  the  upright  soul, 

And  the  god  of  the  purse  is  the  god  that  we  curse, 

While  we  bow  to  him,  hip  and  jowl. 


This  cry  is  hurled  round  a  purse-proud  world, 

Nor  is  hushed  by  the  helping  hand. 

Who  relieves  those  in  need  for  the  love  of  the  deed 

Coaxes  censure  like  that  for  a  singular  creed 

We  come  never  to  understand. 

The  cry  that  will  live  is  the  fierce  cry  of  "Give !" 

Hear  the  multiple  echoes  roll! 


168 


GIVE!  GIVE! 


Though  the  god  of  the  purse  is  the  god  that  we 

curse, 
Yet  we  bow  to  him,  hip  and  jowl. 

This  cry  upraised  to  the  god  that's  praised 

Is  unchecked  by  the  touch  of  death, 

And  the  soft  word  that  slips  through  the  child's 

coaxing  lips 

Is  the  word  that  is  voiced  by  the  wanton  who  strips 
With  the  blight  of  her  vampire  breath. 
The  loves  that  we  know  and  the  follies  we  show 
Are  forgiven,  if  full  the  bowl; 
Though  the  god  of  the  purse  is  the  god  that  we 

curse, 
Yet  we  bow  to  him,  hip  and  jowl. 


169 


WHEN   PASSES  THE  FLAME. 


WHEN  PASSES  THE  FLAME. 

Today  you  are  most  kind, 
But  kindness,  now,  seems  only  anger's  cloak ; 
Your  looks  are  gentle  yet  I  fail  to  find 
That  joy  they  once  awoke. 

Today  you  clasp  my  hand 

And  speak  soft  nothings  in  my  passive  ear; 

I  listen  but  I  do  not  understand ; 

My  heart  has  failed  to  hear. 

True  love  will  not  abide 
Where  inclination  has  to  custom  grown, 
And  now  when  thus  you  linger  at  my  side 
I  am  as   one  alone. 

The  ember,  lying  gray, 
May  be  revived  although  its  flame  be  sped, 
But  who  of  mortal  man  can  find  the  way 
To  fire  the  spark  that's  dead? 


170 


ON    THE    LITTLE    SANDY. 


ON   THE   LITTLE   SANDY. 

Just  within  the  mystic  border  of  Ken 
tucky's  blue  grass  region 

There's  a  silver  strip  of  river  lying  idly  in 
the  sun, 

On  its  banks  are  beds  of  fragrance  where  the 
butterflies  are  legion 

And  the  moonbeams  frame  its  glory  when 
the  summer  day  is  done. 

There's  a  little,  rose-wreathed  cottage  nest 
ling  close  upon  its  border 

Where  a  tangled  mass  of  blossoms  half  con 
ceals  an  open  door, 

There's  a  sweet,  narcotic  perfume  from  a 
garden's  wild  disorder, 

And  the  jealous  poppies  cluster  where  its 
kisses  thrill  the  shore. 

From  across  its  dimpled  bosom  comes  the 
half-hushed,  careful  calling 


171 


ON    THE    LITTLE    SANDY. 


Of  a  whippoorwill  whose  lonely  heart  is 
longing  for  his  mate, 

And  the  sun  aslant  the  sleepy  eyes  of  fox 
gloves  gently  falling 

Tells  the  fisherman  out  yonder  that  the  hour 
is  growing  late. 

From  the  branches  of  the  poplars  a  spas 
modic,  sleepy  twitter 

Comes,  'twould  seem,  in  careless  answer  to 
the  pleading  of  a  song, 

And  perhaps  the  tiny  bosom  holds  despair 
that's  very  bitter 

For  his  notes  are  soon  unheeded  bv  the  little 
feathered  throng. 

Then    the    twilight   settling   denser    shows    a 

rushlight  dimly  burning — 
Ah,  how  well  I  know  the  landing  drowsing 

'neath  its  feeble  beams, 
And  my  homesick  heart  to  mem'ries  of  the 

yesterday  is  turning 
While  I  linger  here,  forgotten,  with  no  solace 

but  my  dreams. 


172 


IF   YOU    HAD   KNOWN. 


IF    YOU    HAD    KNOWN. 

If  you  had  known 

That  'neath  my  glance  indifferent,  the  seeds 

Of  love  were  sown, 

Would  you  so  brief  have  held 

My   proffered   hand 

Within  your  own? 

If  you  had  guessed 

The  thrill  of  passion  that  your  touch  awoke. 

Would  you  have  pressed 

My  hand  in  careless  mood, 

Or  clasped  me  close 

Unto  vour  breast? 


173 


THE  BURDEN. 


THE  BURDEN. 


Within  the  temple  purple  windows  threw 
Their  solemn  light  athwart  the  silent  aisles, 
And  lengthening  shadows  into  twilight  grew; 
Still   Zarick  knelt,  unwilling  to   depart, 
So  heavy  was  the  sorrow  at  his  heart. 

"Great  Oracle,"  he  cried,  "behold  my  grief, 
"I  sink  beneath  the  burden  of  my  life ; 
"O,  guide  me  to  some  haven  of  relief. 
"No  man  of  woman  born  can  know  the  stress 
"That  I  endure  from  utter  wretchedness." 

"Go  search  the  world,"  a  solemn  voice  replied, 
"And  give  thy  life  in  full  exchange  for  one 
"That  thou  may'st  choose ;  thou  shalt  not  be  denied." 
In  fervent  thanks  he  lifted  up  his  voice, 
And  joyfully  went  forth  to  make  his  choice. 


174 


THE  BURDEN. 


The  Eastern  sun  full  many  seasons  rolled 
Across  the  spice-breathed  air  of  Orient  shores ; 
Full  many  months  the  temple  bells  were  tolled, 
Yet  Zarick  came  not ;  then,  one  solemn  night 
An  old  man  knelt  beneath  the  altar  light. 

''Great  One,"  he  said,  "I've  searched  through  hut 

and  hall, 

''And  found  no  man  untouched  by  sorrow's  breath ; 
"My  burden  was  the  lightest  of  them  all ; 
"No  space  overlooked,  no  road  but  I  have  trod 
"And  all  have  suffered,  all  have  kissed  the  rod." 


175 


)OHN  BRADFORD  S  PRAYER. 


JOHN    BRADFORD'S    PRAYER. 

John  Bradford  stood  at  the  entrance  gate  of 

a  jail  in  Ludlow  Square; 
He  saw  a  man  led  forth  to  die,  and  he  offered 
up  a  prayer. 

He  offered  up,  for  himself,  a  prayer,  as  but 

pious  people  can 
Who  follow  rules  of  the  cloth  and  creed,  did 

this  conscientious  man. 

He  offered  up  for  himself  a  prayer  'neath  the 

archway  drear  and  dim, 
And  thanked  the  Lord  that  another  man  was 

to  die  instead  of  him. 

He  used  the  harassing  circumstance  of   the 

checkered  life  near  run 
To  call  to  notice  his  godliness,  and  to  draw 

comparison. 


176 


JOHN    BRADFORD  S   PRAYER. 


He  iaid  the  list  of  his  Christian  deeds  in  the 

Master-Hand  on  high. 
But  not  a  word  was  there  said  for  him  who 

was  going  forth  to  die. 

He  prayed  so  much  of  his  own  affairs,  and 

they  took  so  long  to  tell, 
The   hangman's   key   to   the   great   unknown 

set  ajar  the  gates  of  hell. 

And  thus  a  soul  sped  its  way  unchecked  by 

an  interceding  prayer, 
While   Bradford   muttered   his   mummery,   to 

his  God,  in  Ludlow  Square. 


177 


LOVE  S    FALLACIES. 


LOVE'S  FALLACIES. 

It  is  not  in  the  blare  of  the  noonday  glare 

That  the  red  of  the  wine  invites ; 
We  must  borrow  the  grace  of  the  time  and  place 

To  give  color  to  soft  delights. 

It  is  not  in  the  heat  of  the  crowded  street 

That  we  seek  for  the  shaded  pool, 
We  would  travel  in  vain  o'er  the  burning  plain 

For  the  gush  of  the  fountain  cool. 

Eyes  that  seem  to  us  bright  by  the  candle's  light 

May  but  commonplace  be  and  dim, 
And  the  lips  we  think  red  have  their  beauty  sped 

When  removed  from  the  glass's  rim. 

Though  we  know  that  the  smile  which  we  hold 

awhile 
Is  but  dross  of  a  base  alloy, 


178 


MY    PLEA. 


Yet  we  marry  false  sighs  to  unblushing  lies 
And  then  christen  the  offspring  "Joy." 

But,  O,  never  believe  that  we  once  deceive 

Or  once  satisfy,  e'en  in  part 
By  the  shadows  that  pass  with  the  empty  glass, 

The  deep  call  of  the  yearning  heart. 


MY  PLEA. 

\Yhen  God's  good  angel  sadly  questions  me 
As  to  my  fitness  for  eternity, 
I'll  say  you  loved  me,  and  when  that  is  done 
My  sins  will  be  forgiven,  and  heaven  won. 


170 


A    PICTURE. 


A  PICTURE. 

Gray  the  sky ;  the  earth  was  gray ; 
Smoke  from  sacrificial  altar, 
Darkly  heavy,  trailed  away. 

Near  the  shrine  a  woman  stood. 
And,  as  incense  to  Ambition, 
Burned  the  wealth  of  womanhood. 

Desolate  to  heart  and  eye  ; 
Not  a  trace  of  color  trembled 
'Neath  the  grayness  of  the  sky. 


Near  the  work  the  artist  stood. 
"What  is  this  ?"  at  last  I  ask  her, 

portray  such  solemn  mood?" 


Stilling  then  an  inward  strife, 
With  dispassion  born  of  patience, 
"This,"  she  answers,  "is  my  life." 


180 


A    PICTURE. 


In  my  glance  deep  passion  glows. 
And  upon  the  sacred  altar 
Quick  I  paint  a  scarlet  rose. 


Long  the  rose  of  scarlet  lay 
On  the  altar  of  Ambition, 
Flushing  red  the  sky  of  gray. 

Tired,  one  day,  and  callous  grown, 
She,  with  brush  annihilating, 
Gave  Ambition  back  its  own. 

But  the  cruel  hand,  'tis  said 
Hesitating  in  its  firmness, 
Left  behind  a  blush  of  red. 


THE  ROAD  OF  A  GREAT  DESIRE. 


THE    ROAD    OF    A    GREAT    DESIRE. 

There  are  bridges,  once  crossed,  that  'twere  wise 

to  burn 

On  the  road  of  A  Great  Desire, 
There  are  havens  of  rest  that  'twere  well  to  spurn, 
There's  the  touch  of  a  hand  we  may  not  return; 
Place  all  longings,  save  one,  on  Ambition's  pyre 
Ye  who  travel  the  road  of  A  Great  Desire. 

There  are  faces  so  young  and  with  hearts  so  old 

On  the  road  of  A  Great  Desire, 
In  their  eyes  lie  the  shadows  of  hopes  untold ; 
Though  the  pulses  beat  swift  yet  the  blood  is  cold, 
For  they  know  but  the  lust  of  Ambition's  fire 
They  that  travel  the  way  of  A  Great  Desire. 

There's  a  shrine  bathed  in  warmth  of  the  world's 

caress 
On  the  road  of  A  Great  Desire, 

182 


LOVE'S  RECOMPENSE. 


It  is  reached  through  the  valley  of  Weariness 
And  the  god  of  the  temple  is  called  Success; 
Lay  the  dreams  you  have  known  on  its  altar  fire 
Ye  who've  traveled  the  way  of  A  Great  Desire. 


LOVE'S  RECOMPENSE. 

The  angry  billows  lash  the  seam-marked  face 
Of  yonder  whitening,  bleak,  sea-girdled  rock; 
A  thousand  storms  have  swept  its  rugged  form; 
It  stands  impervious  to  stress  and  shock. 

Xo  jagged  hurt  that  ever  scarred  its  sides 
But  seemed  a  privilege,  made  doubly  blest, 
Were  it  endured  to  shield  the  cherished  life 
Of  that  frail  lichen  clinging  to  its  breast. 


183 


TO   MY   BOOKS. 


TO    MY    BOOKS. 

Old  friends,  your  pardon.     I  am  come  again 
Back  from  the  social  littleness  of  men 
Contrite  and  deeply  shamed  that  I  was  lured, 
And  roundly  punished  by  the  pain  endured. 

From  out  some  vanity  of  mine  it  grew, 

Dread   wastes   of   empty    words     I've    floundered 

through, 

Deceived  in  false  supports  at  which  I  caught, 
To  sink  at  last  'neath  seas  of  vacuous  thought. 

If  mental  suffering  can  shrive  the  sin 
Of  seeking  social  paths  to  wander  in 
Then  I  was  blameless  scarce  the  way  was  won 
And  stood  forgiv'n,  with  every  penance  done. 

How  peaceful  here :     You  stand  in  silent  row 
Reflecting  back  the  firelight's  genial  glow 


184 


TO   MY   BOOKS. 


In  wealth  of  welcome  you  so  well  express 
Which  not  to  feel  would  be  to  love  you  less. 

No  more,  old  friends.    I  know  man  tends  to  good 
'Xeath  mem'ry  of  fresh  sufferings  withstood, 
And  scarce  I  blame  you  that  you  wink  and  leer 
At  one  who  sought  the  world  when  you  were  near. 


185 


LOVE'S  VICTORY. 


LOVE'S    VICTORY. 


"I  want  you  to  hold  me  and  prize  me  again, 
"Why  spurn  me  now?"  Love  cried. 

"I  go  to  lay  siege  to  the  Castle  of  Fame, 
"Where  you  may  not  abide." 

With  sweet,  curly  head  bowed  in  petulant  grief, 

With  bright  eyes  rilling  fast, 
He  saucily  said,  "Though  you  send  me  away, 
I'll  victor  be,  at  last." 

One  day,  from  the  heights  of  the  Castle  I  gazed 

O'er  hopes  that  used  to  be, 
O'er  years  that  were  dead;  then  my  heavy  heart 

said, 
"Give  Love  the  victory." 


186 


A  CAROL. 


A  CAROL. 


Sing,  thou,  with  all  thy  harmony  of  voice, 

Let  not  one  throat  be  dumb, 
Lift  up  thy  drooping  spirit  and  rejoice 

For  lo,  the  King  is  come ! 

Lay  all  thy  motives  bare;  beneath  the  sun 

His  scepter  is  thy  deeds, 
And  every  kind  and  generous  action  done 

His  throne  from  which  He  pleads. 

There's  joy  in  every  theme,  though  sadly  shown ; 

Man's  pity  did  but  gloss 
That  greatest  ecstasy  the  world  has  known, 

The  sorrow  of  the  cross. 

From  world  to  world  stirred  pulses  that  were  still, 
Where  suns  had  ceased  to  shine; 


187 


A  CAROL. 


All  chaos  was,  'neath  that  melodious  thrill, 
Made  cosmic  and  divine. 

No  distant  space  that  failed  to  understand 

This  passion  of  the  Lord, 
Futurity  was  circled  by  His  hand 

In  one  great  master-chord. 

Sing!  Sing!  Through  all  the  morning  of  thy  life, 

And  sing  to  greet  its  night ; 
He  finds  the  harmony  within  the  strife 

Who  reads  life's  score  aright. 

Learn  from  the  cognate  universe  thy  song; 

Thrice  blessed  he  who  hears 
And  understands  the  cadence  that  has  long 

Swung  rhythmic  round  the  spheres. 


188 


THE  VOYAGERS. 


THE  VOYAGERS. 


With  oars  at  rest,  content  to  drift,  and  dream. 
Responsive  swinging  where  each  current  sets, 
One  idles  down  the  bosom  of  the  stream 
With  will  of  waves  no  issue  to  dispute. 
With  helm  long  dropped  from  hands  irresolute. 

Another  craft  upon  the  river  rides, 
Fast  sweeping  on  beneath  each  steady  stroke. 
With  helm  hard  set  against  the  changing  tides ; 
It  braves  the  tortured  night,  the  wind-swept  day 
Forever  keeping  on  its  charted  way. 

To  float  among  the  lilies  near  the  shore. 
And  build  brave  plans  to  reach  the  harbor  lights 
Should  danger  threaten  in  the  tempest's  roar. 
No  broken  oars,  no  muscles  strained  and  tired. 
Ah,  surely  this  were  way  to  be  desired. 


189 


IN  RETROSPECTION. 


A  cloud  o'ershades  the  red,  low-drooping  sun. 
Of  him  who  bared  his  strong  arms  to  the  work 
The  storm-gods  tell  that  port  was  bravely  won. 
Of  him  who  dreamed  and  drifted?    Ask  the  night 
Where  now  the  mast  that  held  his  puny  light. 


IN  RETROSPECTION. 

Could  I  turn  back  all  the  leaves  of  life, 
Correct  the  blunders  and  soothe  the  strife ; 
Could  I  blot  out  every  dark  deed  done, 
Make  good  each  triumph  unjustly  won ; 
Could  I  live  free  from  the  faults  of  men, 
I  would  not.    Living  my  life  again, 
I'd  do  each  deed  as  I  did  it  then. 
This  life  were  surely  a  tiresome  page 
If  man,  arriving  at  sour  old  age, 
Have  nothing  braver  to  grace  his  bier 
Than  a  prudent  life  and  a  just  career. 


190 


DON'T  WORRY. 


Though  not  one  of  your  fanciful  schemes  comes  to 
light, 

Don't  you  worry ; 

You  have  had  the  fond  pleasure  of  thinking  they 
might, 

So  don't  worry. 
Though  the  page  is  all  blotted  and  thumb-marked 

and  torn. 
There's  a  God  up  above  who  has  seen  what  you've 

borne, 

And   who   tempers   the   wind   to   the   lamb  that  is 
shorn, 

So  don't  worry. 


Though  the  bauble  you  longed  for  looks  cheap  in 
your  hand, 

Don't  you  worry ; 


191 


DON'T    WORRY. 


Though   you   sink  where  you   thought   it   was   alr 
solid  land. 

Don't  you  worry. 

Like  the  baby,  you  see  the  sun's  glint  on  the  wall, 
And  you  struggle  to  clasp  it — you  stumble,  and  fall ; 
Then  you  find  you  have  gathered  a  shadow — that's 
ail- 
But  don't  worry. 

Though  the  play  is  played  out  and  the  curtain's  rung 
down, 

Don't  you  worry ; 
Though  the  features  of  life  wear  a  turbulent  frown. 

Don't  you  worry. 
Though  the  other  man  wins,  and  you  lose,  in  the 

race, 
Don't  you  let  the  world  know ;  put  a  smile  on  your 

face; 

There  are  always  your  pistols  up  there  in  their  case. 
So  don't  worry. 


102 


THE  PESSIMIST. 


THE    PESSIMIST. 

There  is  no  rose  on  the  broad,  bleak  earth 
Worth  the  labor  put  forth  to  raise  it; 
No  scarlet  mouth,   framed   in  dimpling  mirth. 
Worth  the  breath   that  it  takes  to  praise   it. 

There   is   no   song  like   the   one   that's   heard 
In  the  time  of  a  life's  beginning: 
No  woman's  love  worth  the  empty  word 
That  we  waste  in  its  useless  winning. 

There  is  no  day  with  its  sordid  strife 
\Vorth  the  serious  thought  we  give  it, 
No  passing  hour  in  a  careless  life 
Worth  the  trouble  it  takes  to  live  it. 

Yet  pluck  the  rose  while  you  chance  to  live. 
Hold  your  pleasures  as  you  may  find  them, 
Forget,  in  joys  that  those  red  lips  give, 
The  grin  of  the  skull  behind  them. 


193 


TO-DAY'S  ROYALIST 


I'd  like  to  have  lived  in  the  time  of  Queen  Bess, 

When  duels  and  battles  were  rife, 
When  swords  were  the  popular  form  of  redress, 

And  insults  were  paid  for  with  life; 
I'd  like  to  have  lived  when  the  commoner  dwelt 

Apart,  in  a  world  of  his  own; 
Have  died  ere  the  time  that  he  voiced  what  he  felt 

And  placed  his  own  spawn  on  the  throne. 

I'd  like  to  have  felt  the  self-satisfied  thrill 

Unlimited  power  can  afford; 
I'd  like  to  have  lived  when  a  gentleman's  will 

Was  urged  at  the  point  of  his  sword, 
Instead  of  to-day  when  "Equality's"  rule 

Puts  "Rights"  in  the  mouths  of  the  clan, 
When  works  of  the  sage  can  be  jeered  by  the  fool, 

When  master's  no  better  than  man. 


194 


TO-DAY  S   ROYALIST. 


I'd  like  to  have  lived  when  the  ermine  embraced 

None  other  than  royalty's  form ; 
I'd  like  to  have  lived  before  caste  was  effaced 

Beneath  the  mob's  leveling  storm ; 
I'd  like  to  have  lived  when  the  form  of  restraint 

Held  commonwealth  under  the  man, 
And  felt  what  it  was  to  be  free  from  the  taint 

Of  "Liberty's"  plebiscite  ban. 


195 


WOMAN. 


WOMAN. 


Believe  that  yonder   stony-hearted   shore 
Will  spare  the  ship  blown  thither  by  the  gale ; 
Believe  there's  mildness  in  the  ocean's  roar 
And  gentleness  within   the  tempest's   wail ; 
Believe  that  tigers,  thirsting  after  blood, 
Belie  their  stripes  and  let  their  victims  go, 
But  ne'er  believe  when  comes  misfortune's  flood 
That  woman  will  to  woman  mercy  show. 


Wolves  fraternize  when  bent  upon  attack. 
Their  hunting  cry  holds  no  discordant  note, 
They  face  a  common  danger,  back  to  back 
Then,  true  to  nature,  tear  each  other's  throat; 
And  not  alone  on  heath  and  wooded  strip 
Does  this,  the  law  of  fang,  aggressive  loom ; 
Wolves,  wrapped  in  velvet,  rend  with  thirsting  lip 
And  wage  their  wars  in  every  drawing-room. 


196 


\VO.\i  AX. 


To  breed  dissension  is  in  woman  born : 
But  some  this  primal  instinct  turn  aside. 
Affecting  charms  more  suited  to  adorn 
And   'neath   conceits   true   inclinations   hide. 
To  seem  the  thing  she's  not  is  woman's  care, 
Xo  soul  of  them  from  this  may  stand  exempt. 
And  none  to  be  her  own  true  self  may  dare 
Lest  she  be  named  an  object  of  contempt. 

Debarred  by  nature  from  those  rough  pursuits 
That  outlets  are  to  savagery,  each  turns 
To  rend  the  other,  recking  not  the  fruits 
Of  slander  and  the  consequence  it  earns. 
O,  sooner  will  be  found  the  drop  of  rain 
When  once  'tis  lost  within  the  river's  flow, 
O,  sooner  shall  the  hilltop  kiss  the  plain 
Than  woman  shall  to  woman  mercv  show. 


197 


THE  GRANDEST  THING. 


THE    GRANDEST    THING. 

When  hope  was  young  and  my  blood  ran  rife, 
When  homage  sweetened  the  cup  of  life 

And  pride  was  a  flame  well  fed, 
They  asked  me  what  was  the  grandest  thing 
That  life  could  hold  or  a  fortune  bring; 
As  quick  as  flashes  a  swallow's  wing 

"To  conquer  men,"   I   said. 

But  now  the  pale  of  the  after-glow 
Reflects  the  chastening  years  of  woe, 

Endurance  bows  my  head; 
"Come,  tell  us  now,  for  we  ask  again, 
The  grandest,  holiest  task  of  men," 
Submission    prompting    where    pride    had    betn- 

"To   conquer   self,"   I   said. 


198 


THE   PUNISHMENT. 


THE  PUNISHMENT. 

Ben  Omi  stood,  with  drooping  head, 
To  hear  the  final  judgment  read 
By  him  who  kept  the  record; 
The  accusations  'neath  his  name 
Recounted  deeds  for  serious  blame — 
A  thumb-marked  page  and  checkered. 

"Your  sins  are  great/'  the  angel  cried, 

"I  know  of  none  who  ever  died 

"So  quite  unfit  for  glory; 

"No  punishment  that  e'er  was  writ 

"Could  shrive  your  soul  and  make  it  fit 

"For  even  purgatory. 

"And  yet — methinks  I'll  improvise 
"And  name  a  penalty,  unwise, 
"But  most  intensely  human; 

Tis  this :     Go  back  to  earth  and  men, 
"Resume  the  flesh,  be  born  again, 
"And  be.  this  time,  a  woman !" 


199 


THE  PRAYER. 


THE  PRAYER. 

Lord,  God,  hear  Thou  a  suppliant.    Abject, 

All  crimson-stained,  I  cringe,  lest  Thou,  in  wrath 

At  my  presumption,  raise  Thy  mighty  hand 

And  crush  the  worm  that  dares  to  lift  its  head 

In  quiv'ring  fear  to  Thine  omnipotence. 

The  years  Thou  gav'st  I've  drunk  like  honeyed  wine, 

In  eager  grasp  to  burning  lips  and  heart 

I've  pressed  the   sweets  of  life,   and   drained  the 

dregs 

Of  every  worldly  pleasure.    Lord,  I  dare — 
Yea,  I !  a  lep'rous  thing — the  crawling  things 
Of  earth  of  which  art  'shamed — I,  dare  to  come 
Before  Thy  face. 

Lord,  God,  hear  Thou  a  suppliant.    Outcast, 
World-weary,  broken  hearted,  losing  all 
I  turn  to  Thee. 

What's  this  I've  dared  to  say? 


200 


THE  PRAYER. 


Great  One,  be  blind  and  deaf,  that  I  may  snatch 

This  blasphemy  from  out  the  Great  Beyond 

And  plunge  it  back  within  my  withered  heart 

To  mock  its  human  selfishness.     I  turn, 

A  thing  all  foul  within,  unfit  for  hell. 

A  pigmy  that  infects  Thy  universe, 

I  turn  to  Thee  when  all  is  lost — Just  God! 

I  wonder  Thou  hast  spared  so  vile  a  thing 

To  soil  Thy  name. 

Emblazon  all  my  sins;  none  can  there  be 
To  equal  this  most  human  infamy. 

When  once  again  a  suppliant  I  come, 
'Twill  be  to  ask  if  any  good  deed  done 
Can  blot  from  out  the  angel's  record-page 
This  prayer.    Amen. 


201 


OF  THE  NANCY  PRYNE. 


OF  THE  NANCY  PRYNE. 

Under  the  deck  of  the  Nancy  Pryne 

The  captain  sits  with  his  flask  of  wine, 

A  pirate  bold  and  a  pirate  true 

With  a  dirk  and  a  sword  that  would  do  for  you 

A  great  deal  more  than  you'd  want  it  to. 

He  drinks  a  toast  to  the  surging  brine, 
This  captain  bold  of  the  Nancy  Pryne, 
Nor  hears  the  shock  of  the  wind  and  rain. 
"I  buried  him  deep,"  comes  the  loud  refrain 
Of  the  song  he  sings  in  a  minor  strain. 


The  captain  drowses  above  his  wine 
Nor  feels  the  lash  of  the  stinging  brine ; 
The  wind  moans  low  in  the  tortured  dark 
And  the  struggle  ends  for  the  straining  bark 
In  a  bit  of  wreck  and  some  corpses  stark. 


202 


OF  THE  XAXCV  PKYNE. 


This  story's  trite  but  the  fault's  not  mine, 
Tis  all  that's  known  of  the  Nancy  Pryne; 
Next  morn  the  song  of  the  sun-kissed  main 
Called  forth  the  gulls  that  had  sheltered  lain 
"I  buried  him  deep,"  was  its  low  refrain. 


203 


BLINDNESS, 


BLINDNESS. 


From  sire  to  sire  for  such  long  cheerless  time 

Have  we  accepted  tears  as  heritage, 

And   dol'rous   droned   through   lengths  of  ancient 

rhyme 

With  ceaseless  sorrow  for  unchanging  theme, 
That  life  has  come  to  be  a  weary  page 
And  joy  the  phantasm  of  a  fevered  dream. 

So  long  have  wrappings  of  unyielding  gloom 
Close-swathed  the  heart,  that  we  resent  the  word 
Which  pleads  for  happiness  this  side  the  tomb. 
For  us  no  note  of  earth  must  vibrant  rise; 
For  us  the  nearer  music  to  be  heard 
Is  lost  in  seeking  that  of  distant  skies. 

We  call  him  pagan  who  in  gladness  strips 
From  glowing  truth  the  dull,  dogmatic  sheath, 
And  kisses  pleasure  full  upon  the  lips ; 


204 


BLINDNESS. 


We  call  him  Christian  who  embraces  care, 

Who   hunts   the    thorns    to    weave    in    crowning 

wreath — 
For  heaven  more  fit  if  girded  by  despair. 

We  leave  the  brilliant  substance  for  the  wraith. 
And  deem  him  sainted  by  conjoint  acclaim 
Who  wears  a  smileless  face  in  show  of  faith. 
Like  mewling  children,  of  the  dark  afraid. 
We  cling  to  crude  supports,  abstruse  and  lame, 
And   keep  to   doleful   covenants,   self-made. 

When  will  the  sons  of  men.  as  one  agreed. 
Consent  to  read  the  word  that  shines  above 
Unbound  by  dwarfing  hindrances  of  creed? 
When  will  the  fallacies  to  which  we  cling 
Be  merged  in  one  great  universal  love? 
When  will  we  say  "The  Father/'  not  "The  King?" 


205 


THE   AWAKENING. 


THE    AWAKENING. 

I   loved   a   man;   the   image    fair 

Of   all    the    good    the    world    contained 

I  pictured  him.     From  out  my  heart 

The  essence  of  a  love  divine 

I  poured  upon  my  rose-decked  god, 

And  sin  by  sin   I   sacrificed 

Myself  upon  his  altar. 

One    day    impoverished,    abashed 

Before   my  idol's   face   I   stood, 

And  whispered  low  that  all  I  had 

To  give  was  given:     My  woman's  heart 

Beat  gently  sweet,  I  raised  my  eyes, 

And  lo!  upon  that  perfect  brow 

Satiety  sat  wearily. 


206 


AX  OLD  LETTER  CASE. 


AN  OLD  LETTER  CASE. 

On  your  surface,  old  and  tattered, 
Rest  small  cupids,  ink-bespattered, 
Clasp  is  gone  and  lock  is  shattered. 

Faintly,  as  I  lift  the  cover, 
Perfume  seems  to  rise  and  hover 
Close,  like  words  of  some  old  lover. 

Tired,  or  fearful  of  derision, 
Here  a  hand  has,  with  precision, 
Struck  a  name  from  curious  vision. 

Had  you  voice  would  words  be  teeming 
Of  a  love  that  proved  but  seeming, 
Idle  hope  and  foolish  dreaming? 

Old  the  story,  old  the  sorrow, 
Nothing  new  of  love  we  borrow, 
True  to-day  and  false  to-morrow. 


207 


AN  OLD  LETTER  CASE. 


Quaint  old  box,  how  reads  your  story  ? 
Fancies  crowd,  and  tinge  with  glory 
Life  that  was  ere  you  grew  hoary. 

Leather  worn  and  satin  tattered, 

Cupids,  roses,  ink-bespattered — 

Like  your  owner's  dreams — all  shattered. 


208 


COMPANIONS. 


COMPANIONS. 

We  two;  with  no  rival  to  come  between 

To  the  death  of  your  ruddy  fire ; 
I  have  you  and  my  book  and  an  easy  chair, 
And  the  pictures  you  paint  for  me  over  there : 
And  no  maid  that  ever  the  world  has  seen 
Can  mar  the  peace  that  we  share.  I  ween ; 

Myself,  and  my  old  black  brier. 

What  secrets  we  have  and  what  nopes  divide 

And  what  sprites  of  the  past  invoke ! 
There  are  shades  of  forgotten  and  dead  desire, 
There  are  lips  that  e'en  rival  your  scarlet  fire. 
And  the  coal  that  presses  your  blackened  side 
Seems  not  more  real  than  the  forms  that  glide 
Through  haze  of  your  curling  smoke. 

We  two ;  with  a  book  and  an  easy  chair 
And  the  cheer  of  a  glowing  fire! 


209 


COMPANIONS. 


With  the  peace  of  your  comradeship  all  about. 
With  the  noise  and  the  stress  of  the  world  shut  out, 
We  can  scoff  at  sorrow  and  smile  at  care 
And  dream  of  deeds  that  the  bravest  dare ; 
Myself,  and  my  old  black  brier. 


210 


I  THANK  THEE. 


I    THANK    THEE. 

For   fortitude  to  turn  harsh  words  aside; 
For  force  of  will  to  humble  stubborn  pride ; 
For  strength  of  heart  to  bear  the  biting  scorn 
And  arrogance  of  one  beneath  me  born ; 
For  power  to  hide  the  hate  within  my  breast ; 
For  outward  calm  to  mask  a  mind  distressed ; 
For  dogged  patience  to  abide  the  time 
When  I  could  claim  revenge  as  wholly  mine. 
Yes,  gratefully,  I  render  thanks  to  Thee 
For  power,  at  last,  to  crush  my  enemy. 


211 


TO    MANUELA. 


TO    MANUELA. 

Mariana?    No.    The  light  that's  speaking 

In  your  eyes 
Is  the  answer  I  am  seeking. 

Mariana?    Talisman  for  sorrow, 

Not  for  love; 
Love   may  die   before   to-morrow. 

And  when  'tis  dead  we  may  deride  it — 

Who  shall  know? — 
Laugh   when  we   should   weep  beside  it. 

Manana  ?    No.    Ahora ;  cherished, 

Lotus-breathed, 
Lived,  before  'tis  past  and  perished. 


212 


THE    LIFE    OF    YESTERDAY. 


THE  LIFE  OF  YESTERDAY. 

What  is  the  use  of  the  toil  and  striving 
And  what  will  matter  the  tear  and  smile, 
The  well  laid  plan  and  the  deep  contriving. 
When  lost  in  the  dusk  of  the  after-while? 

Why  fret  the  flesh  with  an  unhealed  sorrow? 
The  world  wants  laughter,  it  shares  no  grief, 
Why  slight  to-day  for  a  vague  to-morrow 
That  shadows  all  hope  for  the  soul's  relief? 

Sweet  were  the  faith  to  believe  and  cherish 
This  life  a  spark  strayed  from  parent  flame, 
To  hold  no  fear  that  its  light  will  perish — 
Instead  of  the  darkness,  the  unknown  name. 

Saddest  of  all  is  to  know,  at  parting, 

The  grief  is  mine,  that  the  world  holds  none. 

To  know   the  blush   of  the  dawn's   faint   starting 

Will  shed  its  red  glory  on  all — save  one. 


213 


THE   LIFE   OF   YESTERDAY. 


If  there  be  friend  who  shall  mourn  my  going, 
Though  grieved  my  loss  in  a  single  breath, 
'Twill  send  a  thrill  through  my  poor  clay  glowing 
And  out  of  the  grave  snatch  the  chill  of  death. 


214 


THE   NEW   YEAR   BELL. 


THE    NEW    YEAR    BELL. 

Within  the  music  of  the   Xew  Year  Bell, 

I  hear  a  note  of  triumph  rise  and  swell ; 

I  hear  its  rhythmic  harmony  repeat 

The  laughter  of  a  maiden  true  and  sweet ; 

Attending  close  upon  the  vibrant  air 

Comes  quivering  discord  of  a  past  despair ; 

Then,   lightly   leaping   from   its   metal   throat, 

The    arbitrary    schoolboy's    careless    note; 

With  trembling  pathos,  an  adagio  slow, 

Deep- voiced   and    solemn,    tells    a    mother's    woe. 

The  chimes  ring  soft,  in  ecstasy  divine, 

I  feel  a  baby's  fingers  close  in  mine; 

Then,   sweet   and   clear   a   cadence    speeds   along 

That  brings  to  mind  a  singer — and  a  song. 

I  hide  my  foolish  tears  as  memories  swell 

In  true  accord  with  music  of  the  bell. 


215 


LOVES  REIGN. 


LOVE'S  REIGN. 

Poor,  halting  thing  that  creeps  a  little  way 
Low-bowed  beneath  its  burden  of  neglect; 
It  clasps  the  broken  hopes  of  yesterday 
And  trails  dead  flowers  with  which  its  form  was 
decked. 

Tear-marked  the  face  that  lifts  with  pleading  eyes. 
The  lips  beg  tol'rance  of  their  latest  breath ; 
Impatiently  we  bear  reproachful  sighs 
And  chafe  beneath  its  sickening  and  its  death. 

Dry-eyed  we  look,  at  last,  on  pallid  lip, 
Relieved,  yet  half  ashamed  that  pulses  sing, 
And  while  the  new-crushed  vintages  we  sip 
Cry  out,  "The  King  is  dead ;  long  live  the  King/' 


216 


WITH    NATURE. 


WITH  NATURE. 

O,  give  me  the  breath  of  the  ocean  foam 
Ere  the  force  of  the  storm  be  spent ; 

O,  give  me  the  width  of  the  world  to  roam, 

The  halt  for  the  night  as  my  only  home. 

With  my  way  forever  the  path  apart 

From  the  haunts  mapped  out  on  the  toiler's  chart. 

To  me  from  the  silence  is  ever  lent 

Companionship,  when  I  spread  my  tent 
In  the  calm  of  the  desert's  heart. 

O.  give  me  the  shades  of  the  morning  sky 

That  reburnish  the  slopes  and  rills, 
O,  give  me  the  tints  where  the  shadows  lie 
Soft-rocked  in  the  sway  of  the  zephyr's  sigh 
And  I'll  crave  no  boon  from  the  artist's  hand 
Though  his  kindling  fame  by  the  world  be  fanned. 
The  glow  of  the  dawn  that  the  heaven  fills. 
The  quiv'ring  light  on  the  sleeping  hills 

Are  the  things  that  I  understand. 


217 


THE    POLE-SEEKERS. 


THE  POLE-SEEKERS. 


From  east  to  north,  as  the  petrels  fly, 
A  snow-squall  whips  through  a  frozen  sky, 
Beneath  the   swirl   of  its  widening  track 
The  sea  curls  up  like  a  dolphin's  back, 
'Twixt  lift  and  fall  of  the  seething  gale 
White  shines  the  sheet  of  a  ghostly  sail. 

O'er  sodden  decks  in  a  chilling  flood 
Sharp  bites  the  tooth  of  the  flying  scud, 
The  crew  stands  firm  though  the  plowing  keel 
Brooks   no   restraint   from  the   steering-wheel ; 
Each  man  so  still  that  the  driving  sleet 
Enwraps  his  form  like  a  winding-sheet. 

The  vessel  swerves  with  a  dip  and  start 
And  sets  its  course  by  the  captain's  chart, 
If  mate  and  crew  mark  the  swift  advance 
They  give  no  sign  by  word  or  glance. 


218 


THE    POLE-SEEKERS. 


From  rolling  seas  to  a  widening  slough 
The  ship  drives  on  with  her  silent  crew. 

The  storm  is  ceased  and  the  sun-dogs  show 

In  purpling  lights  o'er  the  crusted  snow ; 

The  wind  that  whipped  through  this  land  of  death 

'Twould  seem  had  blown  with  a  Lethean  breath, 

For  if  hours  have  passed,  or  if  days  have  sped, 

No  soul  on  board  could  have  truly  said. 

Ethereal  blue  at  the  bow  and  stern 

That  spreads  o'erhead  an  inverted  urn. 

And  in  the  rim  of  its  arching  bowl 

The  mystic  swing  of  the  heavens  roll. 

The  needle  swerves  in  a  circling  ring 

And  the  world  is  hushed  while  the  planets   sing. 

The  captain  bends  o'er  his  chart  and  book 
Nor  heeds  the  scene  by  a  transient  look. 
Arouse  thee,  man,  for  thy  work  is  done, 
The  bar  is  past  and  the  goal  is  wron! 
But  he  makes  no  sign  if  his  dull  eyes  see, 
He  is  done  with  earth  and  its  mockerv. 


219 


THE    POLE-SEEKERS. 


The  ship  sweeps  on  through  the  wind-tossed  sea, 
Through  the  ice-packed,  shoal-ringed,  threatening 

sea, 

Till  the  gray  waves  break  on  a  storm-worn  beach 
And  the  silence  hears  but  the  sea-mew's  screech, 
But  the  sea-mew's  screech  and  the  fur-seal's  bark, 
And  it  founders  there  in  the  angry  dark. 

The  pole-star  shines  with  a  murky  light, 
Like  an  astral  sun,  with  a  frozen  light ; 
O'er  the  glacier  beds  and  the  ice-flow's  spire 
The  auroras  flash  in  a  fan  of  fire, 
And  they  mock  the  forms  of  the  corpses  stark 
On  the  ship  that  died  in  the  outer  dark. 

The  frost  hangs  thick  on  the  stove-in  hull, 

On  the  snow-sheathed,  wave-pressed,  battered  hull, 

And  the  tide  bears  hard  on  the  weakened  beams 

Till  it  saps  the  strength  of  the  hemp-calked  seams, 

Till  it  sweeps  away  every  telltale  mark, 

Lest  a  prey  be  lost  to  the  unknown  dark. 


220 


WHEN    CHRIST    IS    RISEN. 


WHEN  CHRIST  IS   RISEN. 

A  mystic  joy  sweeps  o'er  the  drooping  world 
Where  yesterday  a  pall  of  sorrow  swirled 
Its  solemn  length  from  vale  to  brow  of  hill : 
Each  tiny  atom  sings  with  quickening  thrill 
And  Nature  cries  with  one  according  breath, 
"All  hail,  'tis  Jesus,  King,  of  Xazereth!" 
But  man  still  questions.     Fearful  lest  his  eyes. 
Schooled  in  deceit,  deceive  himself,  he  cries, 
"The  proof?"     In  answer,  lo,  the  bleeding  hands. 
"What  creeping  life  so  pitiful  as  man's? 
The  word  was  given  him  for  a  higher  goal 
Else  this  last  shame  had  forfeited  his  soul. 


221 


THE    STAR. 


THE    STAR. 

The    night    shut    in    with    black    and    threatening 

frown 

When  o'er  my  troubled  world  the  sun  went  down, 
Forebodings  marked  the  time  with  vague  distress 
That   bound    me    prisoner   to    hopelessness, 
And  darkness  seemed  more  fearful  to  my  sight 
From  having  known  the  glory  of  the  light. 

The    hours    dragged    on ;    I    raised    my    drooping 

head 

But  not  in  hope,  I  knew  the  sun  was  dead, 
And  planned  no  life  beyond  the  black  expanse 
When,  lo,  I  saw  a  wondrous  light  advance 
That  glowed  and  grew  until  it  filled  the  skies. 
I  stood  and  gazed  with  yearning,  doubting  eyes. 

No  more  does  hope's  hurt  wing  trail  idly  down, 
No    more    does    night    shut    in    with    threatening 
frown, 


222. 


THE    STAR. 


I  grieve  no  more  because  the  sun  is  gone, 
Hold   no  regret  for  yesterday's   lost  dawn, 
But  bless  the  salient  gloom  that  reached  afar, 
For  else  how  had  I  ever  found  the  star  ? 


THE   INEVITABLE. 


THE    INEVITABLE. 

Christ   is   born   to-day.     Sad   heart 

Look  up,   and  hope. 
Those   who   kneel   and   still   their   cries 
Do  not  know  that  in  His  eyes 
Shadow  of  a  cross  there  lies. 

Love  is  born  to-day.     My  heart 

Look  up,  and  hope. 
Sweet   content   is   all    about; 
But  the  life  blood  will  drip  out, 
Some  day,  on  a  cross  of  doubt. 


224 


TO    ETHEL. 


TO    ETHEL. 

The  heart's  emotion  finds  no  way  to  speak 
So  poor  is  man  in  gifts,  in  words  so  weak, 
And  gratitude  within  the  throbbing  breast 
Must  ever  rest  there  only  half  expressed. 

Unskilled  I  stand  to  cope  with  what  I  feel 
So  strange  this  element  new  joys  reveal, 
My  heart  though   not  unknown   to   lighter   mood 
Is  all  unused  to  this  of  gratitude. 

In  other  moments  I  have  found  the  word 
Through  which  to  make  some  deep  emotion  heard, 
Now  falt'ring  tongue  lacks  power  to  overcome 
Its  own  incompetence,  and  so  lies  dumb. 

Not  from  ungratefulness,  although  I  claim 
No  more  of  sentiment  than  others  name. 
From  lack  of  rivulets  to  feed  the  spring 
Its  waters  long  have  ceased  to  purl  and  sing, 


325 


TO    ETHEL. 


But  now  it  gushes  out  in  force  anew ; 
That  this  is  so,  I  render  thanks  to  you. 
One  sweet,  good  woman  down  my  path  has  trod 
To  make  this  barren  earth  seem  nearer  God. 


220 


DESECRATION. 


DESECRATION. 


Ferret  them  out — ferret  them  out, 
Label  the  plunder  and  hawk  it  about. 
Dip  grasping  ringers  deep  into  the  dark, 
Draw  from  its  cover  each  skeleton  stark. 
Secrets,  and  papers,  and  letters,  long  penned, 
The  dead  would  have  given  his  blood  to  defend ; 
Xo  incident  leave  to  the  mercy  of  doubt, 
Ferret  them  out — ferret  them  out. 


This  is  the  work  for  the  daughter,  the  wife, 
Friend  that  the  dead  man  has  trusted  in  life. 
Each  holds  some  mem'ry  of  weakness  confessed, 
Confidence  given  when  heart  was  distressed : 
These  trundle  out  for  the  crowd's  curious  eyes. 
If  sacred  the  trust,  then  the  greater  the  prize, 
Rest  not  in  your  effort  till  you  have  unfurled 
All  that  the  dead  has  kept  close  from  the  world. 


227 


DESECRATION. 


Here  is  a  page  where  his  soul  was  laid  bare, 
Every  word  wild  with  a  heart's  great  despair, 
Penned  here  are  thoughts  that  were  never  revealed 
While  he  had  life  and  his  lips  were  unsealed ; 
Locked  in  the  grave,  lacking  power  to  protest, 
Quick-seized  is  the  prize  and  for  barter  is  dressed. 
Ye  merciless  Vandals  with  talons  of  greed 
Drag  out  his  heart  that  the  vultures  may  feed. 


328 


OX  THE  TAMALPAIS  SLOPE. 


ON    THE   TAMALPAIS    SLOPE. 

There's  an  amber  light  a-quiver  on  the  eucalyptus 

trees. 

There's  a  splash  of  fiery  crimson  tints  the  wood. 
And  the  tiny  brook  speaks  softly  to  the  perfume- 
laden  breeze 
That  replies  as  though  it  plainly  understood. 

From  beneath  the  leaf  strewn  brush-pile  there  is 

seen  a  wary  nose 

Peeping  out  in  nervous  caution  and  affright 
Ere   its   owner   ventures   yonder   to   a   spot   where 

breakfast  grows 
With  the  dew  left  fresh  upon  it  by  the  night. 

As  a  touch  of  quiet  sadness  marks  the  song  the 

martin  sings 

Near  the  old  nest,  long  deserted  in  the  glen. 
So  do  hearts  imbued  with  sorrow  ever  turn  where 

mem'ry  clings 
And  in  fancy  live  their  happiness  again. 


229 


ON  THE  TAMALPAIS  SLOPE. 


There's  a  power  that  turns  us  ever  to'ard  the  helpful 

light  of  hope 

Though  the  chief est  of  our  projects  totter  down, 
And  my  guiding  star  is  yonder  on  the  Tamalpais 

slope 
When  I  sink  beneath  the  tumult  of  the  town. 


230 


HIS  ANSWER. 


HIS  ANSWER. 

Do  I  love  you  ?    I  do,  if  distrust  can  be  love ; 
If  the  fear  that  I  feel  when  I  press  your  warm  hand 
That  you'd  grant  the  same  favor  to  some  other  man 
Were  the  time  but  auspicious,  and  I  out  of  sight; 
If  the  certainty,  here,  in  my  heart,  that  your  glance 
Will  caress  me  then  turn  to  some  other,  perchance 
Who  has  merited  less  what  I  deem  as  my  right ; 
If  the  madness  that  throbs  when  I  feel  your  embrace. 
And  despair  that  o'erpowers  when  I  look  in  your 

face, 

Irresponsible,  weak,  vacillating,  untrue — 
If  a  certain  contempt  that  steals  into  my  breast 
When  the  overwrought   senses   are   stilled  and  at 

rest 
Can  be  love,  then,  I  answer  you,  yes,  that  I  do. 


231 


THE    GOLDEN    GATE. 


THE    GOLDEN    GATE. 

The  sun  sinks  low  and  the  hour  grows  late, 
The  clouds  drift  in  through  the  Golden  Gate ; 
The  sea-gulls  dip  with  a  whirl  and  cry, 
They  scan  the  earth  and  they  scan  the  sky, 
They  dart  and  whirl  with  a  restless  wing, 
Nor  trust  the  song  that  the  breakers  sing; 
They  know  the  purr  of  the  mighty  sea 
Presages  acts  of  its  treachery; 
Beneath  the  droning  so  soft  and  low 
They  feel  the  breath  of  the  tempest  blow. 

A  mother  prayed  till  the  hour  grew  late, 
" Bring   my   boy    safe   home   through   the    Golden 
Gate." 

A  troubled  ship  on  the  wave  is  seen, 
Her  sails  are  bright  with  a  silver}'  sheen, 
She  plows  her  way  through  the  salty  deep, 
While  mighty  waves  o'er  her  bulwarks  leap; 


232 


THE    GOLDEN    GATE. 


The  tempest's  finger  points  out  her  course, 
She  swerves  and  follows  with  fateful  force; 
She  trembles,  hesitates,  rushes,  dips, 
Her  white-faced  crew  with  their  salt-washed  lips 
Nor  fear  nor  care  for  the  wind-swept  sea, 
They  sleep  the  sleep  of  eternity. 

A  mother  prayed  till  the  hour  grew  late — 
And    her    boy    went    Home,    through    the    Golden 
Gate. 


233 


IN   MISSION  DOLORES   CHURCHYARD. 


IN    MISSION    DOLORES     CHURCHYARD. 


What  do  they  dream  of  down  in  their  beds 

Lowly  and  still, 

With  the  echoless  sound  of  the  languorous  rill 
Tinkling  in  cadences  liquid  and  soft 
Through  the  night  at  their  feet  and  the  night  at 

their  heads  ? 

Deep  in  the  dusk  of  this  silent  spot 
What  is   remembered  and  what  forgot? 


What  do  they  hold  of  hope  and  regret, 

Laughter  and  pain — 

Is  there  naught  to  disturb  but  the  drip  of  the  rain 
Stealing  to  cheeks  that  lie  pallid  and  chill? 
What  of  memory  clings  where  the  soul  would  for 
get? 

Silent  the  lips  where  a  song  was  heard, 
Silence   where  once   spoke  a   deathless   word. 


234 


IN   MISSION  DOLORES  CHURCHYARD. 

This  one  who  lies  here,  think  you  he  knows 

Day  is  above? 

From  the  cypress  near  by  come  the  notes  of  a 

dove 

Telling  his  passion  full-plaintive  and  sweet ; 
Kind  were  the  song  if  the  poor  clay  glows 
Thrilling  again  to  a  love  once  known 
Ere  the  dark  moss  o'er  the  heart  had  grown. 


Linger  awhile  and  fellowship  keep 

Him  who  is  lone ; 

Here  no  trace  of  a  flowrer  or  the  mark  of  a  stone 
Ventures  dispute  with  the  tangle  of  briars 
That  speak  hoarse  in  the  wind  of  the  one  that  lies 

deep, 

Wrapt  in  the  dusk  of  this  tranquil  spot 
Haply  forgetting,  and  long  forgot. 


235 


THE    MAN    AND    WOMAN    OF    IT. 


THE  MAN  AND  WOMAN  OF  IT. 

"My  vase  is  broken,"  she  trembling  said; 
The  tears  fell  fast  and  she  drooped  her  head 
"With  tender  touch  I  will  mend  it  true, 
And  make  believe  it's  as  good  as  new." 

"My  vase  is  broken,"  he  calmly  said ; 
"But  I'll  buy  another  one  instead; 
One  just  as  pretty  and  just  as  good, 
And  put  it  there  where  the  old  one  stood." 


236 


WILL  YOU  RECALL  MET 


WILL  YOU  RECALL  ME. 


How  will  it  be 

After  the  infinite  pain  of  the  parting, 

The  tears  and  the  sorrow  ? 

After  we've  crushed  each  regret  at  its  starting, 

After  the  night  of  the  old  day's  departing 

When  dawns  the  tomorrow, 

How  will  the  world  look  to  you  and  to  me  ? 

How  will  it  be? 

Will  we  forget 

Things  we  have  loved  and  from  which  we  must 

sever, 

Small  objects  of  treasure. 

Dingy,  dear  books  we  have  conned  well  together; 
Trifles  of  love  we  have  kept  through  all  weather 
That  happiness  measure ; 
Things  over  which  love  and  labor  have  met, 
Will  we  forget? 


237 


WILL  YOU  RECALL  ME? 


When  all  is  done, 

When    our    hearts,    quickened    by    stress    of    their 

aching, 

Prompt  lips  to  dissemble, 
Teaching   them   smiles,   while   beneath   hearts   are 

breaking, 

Making  them  prate  of  the  new  dawn's  awaking — 
Then,   dear,   should   I   tremble, 
Will  you  recall  me,  when  hope  I  have  none, 
When  all  is  done? 


238 


APOTHEGMS  FOR  THE  IDLE. 


APOTHEGMS  FOR  THE  IDLE. 

What  were  the  summer,  stripped  of  all  its  bloom 
What  were  the  world,  denying  idlers  room  ? 
The  serious  faces  of  the  spinners  left 
Affrighting  one  another  in  the  gloom. 

Who  finds  his  work  in  life  where  pleasure  lies, 
Who  feasts,  though  he  at  last  of  famine  dies, 
Can  say  that  he  has  lived  though  he  may  hold 
No  fleeting  bauble  that  the  frugal  prize. 

Utility  and  beauty  seldom  mate, 
And  he  who  turns  the  idle  from  his  gate 
Perchance  but  cuts  the  lily  from  its  stem 
To  leave  his  garden  bare  and  desolate. 

When  indolence  would  plead  its  own  defense 
Turn  not  away  in  pride  of  eminence; 


239 


APOTHEGMS  FOR  THE  IDLE. 


The  drone  and  worker  find  the  common  goal 
And  lie  in  lengths  of  equal  consequence. 

Withhold  the  condemnation  that  would  fling 
The  cloak  of  silence  o'er  the  hearts  that  sing, 
The  word  of  cheer,  though  voiced  by  careless  lips, 
Is  ever  to  be  held  a  priceless  thing. 


240 


THE   MISER  S   SONG. 


THE  MISER'S  SONG. 

My  heart  is  old,  is  old,  is  old. 
Its  warmth  went  out  with  a  dream  untold. 
The  blood  drips  slow  through  each  mangled  fold- 
I  heal  the  hurt  with  the  balm  of  gold. 
Of  gold,  of  gold. 

My  heart  is  old,  is  old,  is  old. 
Is  hard  and  withered,  and  dead  and  cold ; 
Where  once  the  blood  of  my  pulses  rolled 
Xow  surges  greed  for  the  yellow  gold. 
For  gold,  for  gold. 

My  heart  is  old,  is  old,  is  old, 
And  dark  and  heavy  as  churchyard  mold : 
For  I,  like  Judas,  have  smiled,  and  sold 
My  friend,  and  God,  for  a  piece  of  gold. 
Of  gold,  of  gold. 


241 


LIFE. 


LIFE. 

I  saw  a  rose  in  a  garden  fair, 

A  scarlet  rose,  that  I  longed  to  wear ; 

I  begged  that  Fate  would  generous  be 

And  give  the  beautiful  rose  to  me. 

She  shook  her  head  in  assumed  regret 

And  answered,  softly,  "Not  yet,  not  yet." 

The  rose's  petals  beneath  the  sun 

Unfolded,  tenderly,  one  by  one, 

Its  rarest  leaves  were  at  last  unfurled 

And  shed  their  glory  upon  the  world; 

I  asked  again,  but  again  I  met 

The  same  denial,  "Not  yet,  not  yet." 

One  day,  the  color  began  to  fade, 

The  scarlet  turned  to  a  deeper  shade, 

The  petals  fluttered  upon  the  air — 

Its  life  was  over,  the  stem  lay  bare. 

All  through  my  life  I  have  known  the  pain, 

The  harsh  derision  of  this  refrain, 

This  mournful  dirge  of  a  life's  regret, 

This  mocking  echo,  "Not  yet,  not  yet." 


343 


FINIS. 


FINIS. 

Around   was   the   evening's   twilight  glow, 
He  softly  whispered,  "I  love  you  so," 
Lip  pressed  to  lip  in  warm  caress, 

Qj 

Two  hearts  aglow  with   happiness. 

Over  the  hill  in  a  churchyard  gray 
The  grass  grows  rank  in  a  wanton  way, 
The  water  oozes,  trickles  and  glides, 
'Round    the    husband's    bed    the    earth-worm 

hides, 

The  dank  mold  quivers  on  lip  and  chin, 
The  worms  creep  out  and  the  worms  creep  in. 

The  bells  ring  out  on  the  sunlit  air, 
The  bride  is  young  and  the  bride  is  fair, 
The  world  is  throbbing  with  love  and  life 
The  bridegroom  hastens  to  kiss  his  wife — 
An  ashen  pallor  o'erspreads  her   face, 
The  dead  man  stands  in  her  lover's  place. 


343 


FINIS. 


The   vision   is   gone — she   breathes   again, 
The  minister  says,  "Till  death,  Amen." 
The  dead  goes  back  to  the  dead  once  more 
As   far,  as  close,  as  he  was  before, 
And  holds  his  vigil  all  grim  and  drear 
Till   her   conscience   cries,   "Appear,   appear." 

In  a  cozy  room  all  warm  and  bright, 

A  cheerful  sight  on  a  winter's  night, 

A  whispering  low,  "Alone,  at  last," 

Is  caught  and  whirled  on  the  icy  blast — 

"Alone,  alone,"  it  whistles  and  moans 

And  scurries  away  to  the  graveyard  stones; 

It  snaps  the  twigs  with  its  chilling  breath 

And  dances  the  frantic  dance  of  death : 

"Alone,  alone,"  it  hisses  and  shrieks — 

The  green  slime  freezes  on  lips  and  cheeks, 

Through    the   clustering   curls,    the   mouth's    wide 

grin, 
The  worms  creep  out  and  the  worms  creep  in. 


244 


LOVE  S    ABERRATION. 


LOVE'S  ABERRATION. 

She  stands  beside  you  but  in  spirit  kneels 
And  worships  at  your  feet  such  love  she  feels; 
Her  melting  heart  grows  faint  beneath  its  bliss 
And  glorifies  its  weakness  through  a  kiss. 
She  smiles,  and  you  from  your  exalted  place, 
Bend  down  to  share  the  heaven  in  her  face. 

What  subtle  change  is  this  you  now  behold  ? 
What  listless  form  your  coaxing  arms  enfold? 
You  chide  that  she  is  heedless  of  your  sigh 
And  meets  your  glance  with  cold  and  vacant  eye. 
What  have  you  done  ?    O,  nothing  much  amiss, 
You've   called    her    Kate,    that's    all,     while     she's 
Liliss. 


245 


GROPING. 


GROPING. 

The  page  of  yesterday — how  strange  the  way 

In  which  its  lines  were  filled, 

How  changed  the  import  of  the  deeds  we  willed 
Seen  through  the  consequences  of  to-day. 

The  stone  that  rests  upon  the  mountain-slope 

Is  harmless  in  its  bed ; 

A  word  is  but  a  word  until  'tis  said, 
Then  'tis  the  avalanche  that  buries  hope. 

We  turn  the  thumb-marked   leaf;   our  cares   and 

strife 

That  have  so  sore  distressed 
We  try  to  bury  in  a  contrite  breast 

And  seek  to  write  a  cleaner  page  for  life. 

But,  somehow,  when  'tis  done  and  conscience  wakes 

To  run  the  items  o'er, 

We  find  the  same  temptations  as  before, 
The  same  backslidings  and  the  old  mistakes. 


246 


THE    GALLEY    SLAVE. 


THE  GALLEY-SLAVE. 

To  work ;  to  weep ;  to  struggle ;  to  endure ; 
To  look  through  tears  upon  a  life's  mistake ; 
To  feel  forbidden  pleasures  tempt  and  lure; 
To  loathe  the  ties  'twere  indiscreet  to  break ; 
To  gaze  upon  the  coffined  corpse  of  love 
With  dry,  hard  eyes ;  to  drain  the  cup  of  gall ; 
No  help  below,  no  hope  from  heaven  above, 
Just  vacancy  and  numbness  over  all ; 
To  have,  to  hold,  to  tire,  and  then,  to  hate ; 
To  burn  the  heart  out  longing  to  be  free ; 
This  makes  up  life  for  that  sad  child  of  Fate 
Who  mourns  beside  a  cold,  dead  ecstasv. 


247 


BARRIERS. 


BARRIERS. 

Shadow  thou  art ;  a  dream  of  my  heart 

Forever  beyond  me. 

I  may  not  press  you 

Close  to  my  breast;  may  not  love  and  caress  you. 

The  passionate  glow 

Lighting  your  eyes  'gainst  your  reason  and  will 

Sent  through  my  being  an  answering  thrill, 

Transient  and  swift 

As  light  through  a  rift; 

Not  until  then  could  we  measure  the  cost — 

Eden  forbidden,  elvsium  lost. 


248 


TO  THE  OLD  YEAR. 


TO  THE  OLD  YEAR. 

How  privileged  are  you,  Old  Year, 

Behold,  when  life  is  through, 
You  change  the  reading  of  your  name 

And  issue  forth  anew. 

The  follies  left  within  the  past, 

Mistakes  that  you  deplore, 
Are   dead    within   their   hidden   graves. 

And  visited  no  more. 

You  snatch  the  rose  from  pleasure's  bush 

Forgetting  where  it  grew ; 
You  keep  no  cup  when  it  is  drained — 

Ah,  how  I  envy  you. 

New  life  comes  swift  on  pealing  chimes 

With  smiles  of  kindly  fate, 
Lo,  through  the  holly's  mystic  fire 
You  are  regenerate. 


249 


TO  THE  OLD  YEAR. 


I  would  that  I  might  leave,  like  you, 
This  body,  weak  with  age, 

And  as  a  child  begin  again 
Upon  an  unsoiled  page. 


250 


A   CHILD  OF  NATURE. 


A  CHILD  OF  NATURE. 

On  the  mountain's  crest, 
Where  the  eagles  nest, 

I  recline  at  ease, 
And  my  lips  are  kissed 
By  the  passing  mist 

And  the  wanton  breeze. 

Unrestrained  I  laugh 
As  a  draught  I  quaff 

From  a  rippling  stream, 
And  I  feel  the  thrill 
Of  unbridled  will 
Like  a  sweet,  wild  dream- 

In  the  town  off  there 
In  the  sultry  air 

Are  the  fools  at  work, 
And  I  drink  their  health 
In  the  torrent's  wealth 

With  a  quip  and  quirk. 

251 


LIFE  S    MIRAGE. 


LIFE'S    MIRAGE. 

Within  my  bruised  heart  the  night  of  life 
Let  down  the  sombre  curtain  of  the  past 

Dull-leaded   with   despair ; 
Within  the  gray  and  ambient  gloom 

Sat  sullen   sorrow : 

The  blackest  hour  had  come  when,  lo,  a  light 
Illumined  all  the  barren,  arid  waste 

And  Hope  stood  trembling  there. 
I  dared  not  trust ;  I  dared  not  lift  my  head ; 
In  awe,  I  whispered,  "What  art  thou?" 

She   said, 

"I  am  the  everlasting  dawn 

Of  life's  to-morrow." 


253 


IN   THE   SHADY    PLACES. 


IN  THE   SHADY   PLACES. 

In  the  shady  places. 

That  the  hand  of  man  has  not  yet  polluted 

Where  the  right  of  way  still  lies  undisputed 

With  the  speaking  wild, 

I  have  listened  long  to  the  distant  reapers 

As   their   cries   come    faint   through   the   flow'ring 

creepers ; 
In  the  shady  places. 

In   the  shady  places 

I  at  times  have  knelt  in  my  soul's  disquiet 

With  my  blood  aflame  in  tumultuous  riot 

O'er  a  stinging  wrong : 

And  the  silence,  keen  to  the  grief  I  smother. 

Calms  my  deep  distress  like  a  tender  mother : 

In  the  shady  places. 

In  the  shady  places 

\Vhere  the  fragrance,  faint,   from  the  moist  earth 
rises 


253 


IN   THE   SHADY   PLACES. 


And  the  winding  path  hides  its  glad  surprises 
Like  a  sportive  child, 

There  I  turn  my  steps  when  the  world  oppresses 
And  I  find  the  balm  for  my  heart-distresses ; 
In  the  shady  places. 


354 


THE   POETIC   CHOIR. 


"THE    POETIC    CHOIR." 

They,  jointly  in  the  critic's  comment  share, 
Co-working   lest   oblivion   swallow   all, 
And  stand  together  'neath  the  wondering  sun 
Like  severed  fractions  that  are  brought  to  bear 
In  entities  uniting  to  make  one. 

"Thus,"  each  has  dreamed ;  and,  "thus,"  the  dream 

was  done, 

And,  "thus,"  each  praise  to  Eros  has  outpoured ; 
The  theme  is  clear,  although  the  text  be  dense, 
And  needs  no  foot-notes  where  the  burdens  run, 
Unless  annexed  to  palliate  offense. 

Poor  Muse !  When  will  a  song  transcendent  rise 
To  drown  the  carping  travesties  long  borne, 
That  shall  with  beauty  hold  the  listener  dumb 
And  waft  the  winged  word  that  never  dies? 
When  will  a  Closes  to  thy  bondage  come? 


255 


LEST    WE   GROW    TOO    CONTENT.. 


LEST    WE    GROW    TOO    CONTENT. 

Lest  we  grow  too  content, 

Lest  the  joys  of  the  world  make  the  pain  of  re 
gretting 

To  leave  it  too  keen,  we  have  sorrows  that,  fretting 
Our  souls  with  their  cankerous  gnawing,  are  given 
Lest  we  grow  too  content. 

As  the  pendulum  swings 

So  our   lives,   ever   pendent   'twixt    laughter    and 

sorrow, 

Today  swing  in  light  and  in  darkness  tomorrow ; 
The  tears  or  the  joys  may  be  cut  with  the  stroke 
As  the  pendulum  swings. 


256 


UNCERTAINTY. 


UNCERTAINTY. 

Where  will  you  be ;  in  the  midst  of  the  throng 
Close  to  the  path  that  I  travel  along, 

Or  aside  in  the  quiet 
Shunning  the  echo  of  laughter  and  song? 

How  shall  I  know  you ;  by  softly  breathed  word, 
Thrilling  the  depths  of  the  heart  that  has  heard, 

Or  by  some  subtle  power 
Potent  as  hope  held  in  longings  deferred? 

When  we  have  met  shall  we  bury  these  years, 
Dead  'neath  the  flood  of  our  penitent  tears, 

And  by  tacit  consenting 
Stifle  the  pain  of  our  doubts  and  our  fears? 

\Vhere  I  now  wander  perhaps  you  abide ; 
Or,  you  perhaps  may  have  passed  at  my  side 

And  have  called  in  your  passing; 
You  may  have  called,  and  I  mav  have  denied. 


357 


FALLACIES. 


FALLACIES. 

We  do  the  thing  most  foreign  to  our  will, 
We  rise  in  grief,  and  lay  us  down  in  pain, 
We  crave  the  joy  from  which  we  must  abstain 
And  crush  desires  that  would  our  being  thrill; 
With  fate  we  combat  in  unequal  strife 
And  call  it  life. 

We  build  a  heaven  where  peace  invites  the  soul ; 
And  earthly  dreams  long  merged  in  shad'wy  wraith, 
Gain  substance  in  proportion  to  our  faith 
As,  sanguine,  we  approach  the  final  goal 
To  greet  each  ardent  hope  with  bated  breath, 
And  call  it  death. 


258 


REGENERATION. 


REGENERATION. 

I  know  not  when  it  died,  this  love  of  mine. 
Its  life  slipped  out  so  quietly  at  last 
When  all  its  fevered  suffering  was  past 
And  fate,  full  gently,  cut  the  fretted  thread. 
My  grief  was  hushed  as  though  by  touch  divine, 
And  I  could  scarce  believe  that  love  was  dead. 

Such  pain  it  has  endured  and  yet  lived  on ! 
It  seemed  that  censure  from  unbridled  will, 
Full  with  contempt,  had  lost  the  power  to  kill 
So  long  the  pulse-throb  beat  with   steady   stroke. 
New  crosses  crushed  the  heart  that  tried  anon 
To  lift  the  weight  and,  in  the  effort,  broke. 

Now  love  is  dead  what  shall  we  do,  my  heart; 
Kneel  down  within  the  shadow  of  our  grief 
And  beg  of  heaven  encompassing  relief? 
Thus  be  it  then — our  joy  was  dearly  bought. 
From  this  dead  life  we'll  let  a  new  life  start, 
Grown  wiser  by  the  lesson  we  are  taught. 


HERE  AND  THERE. 


HERE,  AND  THERE. 

To  be  over  yonder  where  fresh  from  the  grasses 
The  fragrance  blows  softly  o'er  dew-laden  hills, 
To  catch  the  quick  word  of  the  wind  as  it  passes 
And  hear  the  low  answer  from  murmuring  rills, 
To  feel  the  salt  kiss  of  the  neighboring  ocean, 
To  thrill  to  each  pleasure  that  Nature  can  give, 
Ah,  this  is  the  acme  of  human  emotion, 
Ah,  this  is  to  live. 

To  know  that  the  herald  of  day  is  o'erflushing 
The  meadows  that  wake  to  the  glow  in  the  east, 
That  every  soft  cloud  in  the  heaven  is  blushing 
Like  cheeks  of  a  maid  from  a  lover  releast, 
To  cage  up  the  heart  in  a  smoke-begirt  city 
And  strive,  ever  vainly,  to  stifle  its  cry, 
Ah,  this  is  misfortune  deserving  of  pity, 
Ah,  this  is  to  die. 


WHERE    ALL    IS    VANITY. 


WHERE  ALL  IS  VANITY. 

How  smiles  the  world  where  yesterday  it  frowned 
And  spurned  with  disapproval  ways  and  means 
By  which  we  sought  to  have  our  efforts  crowned. 

How  smiles  the  world  when  we  have  found  success, 
How  servilely  it  seeks  the  master-hand 
When  it  has  lost  the  grime  of  weariness. 

When  heights  are  gained,  when  over  tortuous  ways 

Yet  trails  the  smoke  of  hourly  sacrifice, 

How  trite  seem  plaudits  and  how  empty  praise. 

What  voice  that  now  approves  but  had  assailed 

And  cried  its  condemnation  to  the  skies 

If  chance  had  so  decreed  and  we  had  failed? 

Where  lies  the  joy  to  know,  should  fortune  frown, 
That  these  who  are  the  loudest  in  our  praise 
Will  be  the  first  to  rend  and  pull  us  down? 


261 


WHERE    ALL    IS    VANITY. 


Thrice  blessed  he,  who,  in  some  lonely  spot 
Apart  from  ways  and  mockeries  of  men, 
Forgets  the  world  and  is,  by  it,  forgot. 


263 


A  SPECTATOR. 


A    SPECTATOR. 

Recalling  all  the  sad,  unfruitful  years, 
The  hopes  long  faded  and  the  joys  long  dead, 
And  pausing  where  the  ghost  of  mem'ry  leers 
I  drink  again  the  gall  of  useless  tears. 

An  empty  life,  as  rayless  as  that  doom 

Which  dogs  the  unbeliever  to  the  grave, 

Or  like  those  flowers  that  droop  within  the  gloom 

To  powdered  dust  on  some  neglected  tomb ! 

One  said  to  me:     "My  life  has  been  as  thine, 
"All  aims  were  thwarted,  motives  misconstrued, 
"The  cup  held  poison  where  I  thought  was  wine; 
"I  gathered  stones  where  gems  had  seemed  to  shine 

"And  had  despaired,  but  voices  seemed  to  say 
1  The  way  of  thy  salvation  lies  in  this, 
'  Take  up  thy  cross,  and  so,  from  day  to  day, 
"  'Become  more  worthy  of  the  higher  way.'  " 


363 


A  SPECTATOR. 


Thus  each  man  has  his  concepts  to  defend, 
Each,  groping,  wraps  about  him  some  belief; 
On  life  we  each  a  serious  int'rest  bend 
All  fearful  yet  all  hopeful  for  the  end. 


264 


THE  ELUSIVE. 


THE  ELUSIVE. 

I  am  that  hope  held  sacred  at  the  start 

Of  love's  desire ; 
I  am  that  dream  that  fades,  when  dies 

Its  smoldering  fire. 

I  am  that  sweet,  evasive  music  heard 

Above  the  theme : 
I  am  the  soul,  intangible. 

Of  things  that  seem. 

I  am  that  subtle  longing  most  of  all 

Misunderstood ; 
That  JOY  men  seek  to  hold  within 

A  jess  and  hood. 

Some  bubble  ever  floats  beyond  the  hand; 

For  which  man  sighs ; 
Some  ignis  fatuus  ever  lures, 

For  which  he  dies. 


265 


THE  ELUSIVE. 


Illusion  all.     No  heart,  that  knows  the  full 

Of  love  most  prized, 
But*  still,  close-hidden,  holds  some  dream 

Unrealized. 


WITH  LOVE  AT  YOUR  SIDE. 


WITH  LOVE  AT  YOUR  SIDE. 

\Yith  love  at  your  side, 

You  steer  your  small  craft  'gainst  a  pitiless  tide, 
You  brave  every  channel  destructive  and  deep, 
And  laugh  as  the  breakers  in  impotence  leap 
And  baffled,  fall  back.    You  can  safely  deride 
All  impudent  evil  with  love  at  your  side. 

With  love  at  your  side, 

The  darkest  and  narrowest  pathway  seems  wide : 

The  sober  old  earth  and  the  gray  sky  above 

Is  warmed,  and  kept  bright,  by  the  sunshine  of  love. 

No  effort  seems  fruitless,  no  joy  seems  denied 

Who  travels  the  world  and  has  love  at  his  side. 


267 


WOMAN  S  DESTINY. 


WOMAN'S  DESTINY. 


Man's  heart's  a  vase  and  woman  is  the  flower 
That  sheds  a  fragrance  through  the  passing  hour ; 
She  sees  love  turn  to  duty,  illy  done, 
Herself  no  longer  wooed  now  she  is  won 
And  destiny,  in  sullen  mood,  at  last 
Conspire  to  write  her  name  within  the  past. 

When  youth  and  maid  set  out  upon  their  way, 
Their  faces  turned  toward  the  dawning  day 
Of  new  born  love,  she  striving  to  forget 
That  o'er  another's  heart  their  lips  have  met — 
Some  woman  who,  perchance,  has  heard  his  vow 
With  soul  as  full  of  trust  as  hers  is  now — 
She  stills  the  errant  thought  within  her  breast 
And  seeks  to  stifle  doubts  but  half  confessed. 

When  dawn  no  longer  holds  the  tint  of  rose 
And  morning  into  noon  of  passion  grows, 


268 


WOMAN  S  DESTINY. 


She  muses  on  the  times  when  he  has  kept 
Love's  light  alive  in  hearts  now  dead,  unwept, 
And  fearful  lest  she  reach  this  common  goal 
Close  scans  his  face  in  bitterness  of  soul, 
Till  in  his  glance  morose,  disconsolate, 
She  reads  the  first  prognostic  of  her  fate. 

Poor,  helpless  woman,  born  to  be  undone, 
Butt  of  all  evil,  recognizing  none; 
Men  censure  her  for  weakness  out  of  hand 
Condemning  in  her  that  they  most  demand, 
Perforce  she  must  pretend  the  thing  she's  not 
Until  her  soul  rebels  against  her  lot ; 
She  calls,  but  lo,  the  gulf  of  sex  is  wide. 
And  she,  a  helpless  bark  upon  its  tide. 

Like  restless  beetles,  on  a  summer's  night, 
Turned  from  their  pastimes  by  a  fatal  light, 
Are  women,  battering  their  better  sense 
Against  established  laws  of  precedents ; 
Though  they  succeed  and  gain  the  thing  they  will 
What  profit  it  ?  they're  slaves  to  Nature  still ; 
Their  lot  will  be  as  it  has  ever  been, 
To  trust,  to  be  deceived,  to  trust  again. 


269 


YOU    WHO   LOVE    ME. 


YOU  WHO  LOVE  ME. 

You  who  love  me,  let  me  know  it, 
Let  your   smiles   and  hand-clasps   show   it, 
Be  not  meager  in  your  giving, 
Kindness  makes  our  lives  worth  living, 
Youth  is  sweet  and  old  age  mellow 
Cheered  by  words  of  some  good  fellow. 

Wait  not  till  the  grave  has  bound  me 
Ere  you  place  your  gifts  around  me, 
Little  will  I  reck  of  weeping 
When  chill  death  is  vigil  keeping; 
So,  while  skies  are  bright  above  me, 
Here's  to  those  who  show  thev  love  me. 


270 


EARTH-LOVE. 


EARTH-LOVE. 

'Tis  not  the  saddest  thing 

That  we  must  one  day  lay  the  volume  down, 

Its  page  unfinished  and  its  aim  unguessed ; 

The  saddest  thing  is  not  Fate's  sudden  frown, 

And  not  the  loss  of  something  that  has  blessed ; 

Tis  not  the  leaving  of  some  love  long  known, 

Nor  yet  the  dreams  that  have  familiar  grown 

And  not  within  the  grave  is  held  the  sting, 

But  in  the  thought  that  this  fair  earth  will  lie 

Tomorrow  and  tomorrow  'neath  the  sky, 

As  fair  as  now,  indifferent  to  our  loss. 

Sore  need  have  we  of  faith  to  bear  such  cross. 

That  ways  well  loved  shall  smile  for  us  no  more 

And  yet  remain  in  beauty  as  before — 

This  were  the  saddest  thing. 


271 


A    DAY    DREAM. 


A    DAY    DREAM. 


Over  yonder  near  the  shore-line  there's  a 

sea-gull  slowly  flying, 
Drifting  gently  on  the  bosom  of  the  land 

breeze  from  the  hills, 
And   he   steeps   within   its   fragrance   all   his 

senses,  none  denying, 
Till   his  brain   is  strangely  heavy  and   his 

bosom,  sweetly  thrills. 


Over  yonder  near  the  shore-line  I,  in  fancy, 

see  the  luster 
Of  the   ardent  sunshine   streaming  on   the 

hills  serene,  and  brown, 
And  my  vagrant  heart  is  resting  where  the 

redwoods  thickly  cluster, 
While    my    body    lingers,    helpless,    in    the 

smoke-encircled  town. 


878 


A    DAY    DREAM. 


I've  a  fervid,  wanton  longing  for  a  spot  I 

know  out  yonder, 
Tis  a  little  sun-kissed  picture  that  I  paint 

when  world-oppressed, 
And  I  dream  that  I  through  fragrance  of  a 

phantom  garden  wander 
Where,  in  fancy,  I've  a  cabin  and,  in  fancy, 

am  at  rest. 


173 


QUATRAINS. 


QUATRAINS. 

Live  not  within  the  past;  compute  the  cost 
Then  burn,  without  regret,  the  bridges  crossed. 
Sweet  yesterday!    A  diamond  past  all  price 
That  slipped  from  out  its  setting  and  is  lost. 

What  one  had  plucked  the  rose  if  he  had  seen 
The  thorns  concealed  beneath  its  tender  green? 
What  tears  were  saved  if  forecast  could  be  made- 
Tears  would  be  saved,  but  lost  the  joys  between. 

Hold  no  regret ;  what  has  been  done,  is  done, 
Nor  all  the  waters  that  to  oceans  run 
Shall  blot  the  folly  from  a  single  act 
O'erfraught  with  consequences  we  would  shun. 

Quench  not  the  flame  because  you  feel  the  fire; 
Fear  not  to  voice  in  prayer  to-day's  desire 
Because  the  answered  prayer  of  yesterday 
Exposed  the  dross  to  which  you  would  aspire. 


274 


QUATRAINS. 


Be  not  too  proud  in  virtue  yet  untried, 
Chance  may  discover  flaws  that  good  deeds  hide, 
And  many  a  prude  a  wanton's  heart  has  housed 
Yet  lived  in  virtue  and  in  virtue  died. 

Before  great  Midas  men  as  slaves  kneel  down 
To  cry  him  perfect ;  but,  let  fortune  frown 
Lo,  all  turn  scoffers  where  they  lately  praised 
And  see  but  ass's  ears  upon  a  clown. 

How  prized  is  gift  of  wit  with  which  to  lead 
And  foresight  to  discern  the  prurient  need ; 
But  prestige  oft  sits  throned  on  emptiness. 
The  way  of  conquest  is  where  vultures  feed. 

Lift  one  above  the  welter  of  the  sty, 
Drag  one  to  dross  of  earth  from  out  the  sky, 
Each  still  himself  remains  through  change  of  time 
Proclaimed  by  earmarks  ye  shall  know  him  by. 

Who  thinks  that  wealth  lies  in  the  vein  of  gold, 
And  power  within  the  royal  ermine's  fold, 
A  child  is  who  has  heard  the  mother's  voice 
But  missed  the  meaning  of  the  story  told. 


275 


QUATRAINS. 


Think  not  to  shirk  the  problems  writ  of  fate, 
Apportioned  labors  lengthen  by  debate, 
Heaven  tolerates  no  sluggard  who  has  held 
The  lesson  of  his  life  too  intricate. 


WITH  YOU  TO  SHOW  THE  WAY. 


WITH  YOU  TO  SHOW  THE  WAY. 


With  you  to  show  the  way, 

To  break  the  path  and  make  it  clear  of  thorns, 

To  help  bewildered  reason  to  the  light, 

To  set,  and  guide,  poor  blundering  feet  aright, 

With  you  as  pilot,  over  any  sea 

Not  known  before,  the  course  would  easy  be; 

The  world  seems  rilled  with  naught  but  what  adorns, 

With  you  to  show  the  way. 


With  you  to  show  the  way 

How  helpless  and  dependent  have  I  grown; 

I  fear  to  venture  lest  I  stray  afar 

And,  wandering  back  to  paths  where  sorrows  are, 

Again  be  lost  within  their  Stygian  gloom. 

What  weave  the  Fates  upon  their  shadowy  loom  ? 

Must  I,  in  some  dread  hour,  walk  on  alone, 

\Vith  none  to  show  the  way? 


277 


WITH  YOU  TO  SHOW  THE  WAY. 


How,  then,  will  seem  the  way? 

The  flowers  will  all  be  dead,  the  birds  all  dumb  ; 

The  well-loved  paths,  close-hidden  from  the  throng, 

Will  all  repeat  my  dead  heart's  funeral  song. 

I  could  not  bear  to  look  on  things  once  shared — 

One  may  not  go  and  leave  the  other  spared, 

So,  tarry  but  a  little  till  I  come 

And  show  me,  still,  the  way. 


278 


^L  i 


YB   I  1 877 


